


Pipetrial

by 0GVButterworth0



Category: Bandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bodyguard Liam, Cop Zayn, Drug Abuse, Dubious Consent, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Niall-centric, Oral Sex, Prostitute Louis, Prostitute Niall, Prostitution, Rich Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0GVButterworth0/pseuds/0GVButterworth0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall and Louis work the streets, selling their bodies to get by. </p><p>Harry Styles, heir to the greatest company in Pipetrial, needs a companion.</p><p>Liam is Harry's bodyguard who does whatever his boss tells him.</p><p>Zayn is a disenchanted cop, just trying to do the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chalcedony Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this break sucks, doesn't it??
> 
> In honor of how disappointing 1D taking a break is, I thought I'd put up my first 1D fic.
> 
> Don't worry, I'm still working on Give Me Sympathy. I work on it every spare hour I get. I just write slow.
> 
> So, to tide you over until I finish that stuff, please enjoy this one!

Pipetrial is a funny name for a city. The people of that fair city rarely think about how odd a name it is, because the name ‘Pipetrial’ was taught to its children before its children had sense enough to know that ‘Pipetrial’ is a damn funny name for a city. Those children that grew into inquisitive adults and who did find themselves asking why a small bump of land on the New England coast should be so knighted would find the etymology of conflicting mythology. It seems there is no final word on how the name came about, but the most sensible answer -- a belief most popular in Pipetrial’s affluent Upper West Side -- is that it had everything to do with the rich veins of iron ore that ran throughout the state. The founders of Pipetrial, so the theory goes, anticipated iron products to be their number one export, and therefore probably thought themselves quite clever in calling their town ‘Pipetrial’ instead of ‘Ironville’ or something obvious.

While there is an Ironworks district in the city under question, the denizens of that borough have a notably different take on the nomenclature. If, while walking among the oversized, expressionless factories and through the busted-down automobile shops, you were to ask a passerby why his or her city had the name it did, you would hear, spat back at you, “It’s where pipe dreams and trials and tribulations meet!” While this slogan has been put forth many times, it has yet to win the position of city motto.

If you have ever been to Pipetrial City, you will know in your heart that neither of these assertions are true.

South of the Financial District, tucked away from the commercialization of Mitchem-Purley, and two highways removed from the grittiness of Chalcedony Circle, there is a lake named Lillywhite. The community surrounding it is older than that of the rest of the city, consisting mostly of families with little children who play in well-managed yards and stay out past their bedtime to catch fireflies. In Lillywhite, they will tell you that Pipetrial was not the city’s original name. In Lillywhite, they will tell you that Pipetrial is a distorted pronunciation of the phrase: Piper’s Trail.  

“There’s music, here,” they will say, “It leads people to the city – along the trail; like the Pied Piper. Once you get that song in your heart, you have to follow, no matter what the cost. Your will’s not your own. Not in this city.”

If you, like me, hold your fables dearly, then you will recall that the Pied Piper both enchanted rats to their death and children to paradise. “Which is true of Pipetrial?” you might be inclined to ask.

“It will be what you make of it,” will be the reply. “They were both the same song.”

**23 Woodrow Avenue**

**Emery Hill, Pipetrial City**

Liam had to wonder if the beautiful blonde rent boy reclining next to him on the mid-range hotel bed and eating greasy takeaway ever had any apprehension whatsoever that Liam was not exactly what he seemed. He had no reason to, Liam resolved, because he’d never lied to the kid. Three months ago, when they’d begun this habit of meeting up every Thursday for 10 hours of “company” at the rate of $50/hour, Liam had been very open about the fact that he worked as a bodyguard for a rather public figure, had only recently discovered his capacity to be attracted to men and, due to war time experiences, always slept, and often fucked, with his socks on. All of this was true, because Liam was very honest. The fact that he could not be honest with the pretty Irish whore about the exact circumstances that lead Liam to seek his services was what made the spicy chicken sit not so easily on his stomach.

“Niall, you know I’d take you somewhere nice, if you liked,” Liam said, propping himself up on his elbow and dragging a bit of tomato through the remnants of sauce on his burger wrapper. “Maybe Victor’s or that little Cuban café on 8th.”

Part of assuaging his guilt was to feed the lad like an overbearing Italian mother. It was effective because Niall could pack it away and did so with adorable relish. His cheek was bulging with his most recent bite when he turned his bright blue eyes to Liam and grinned, “Pango’s is the best. Anyway, I like just being here with you.”

‘Here’ was room #213 of the Sheridan hotel on 12th and Woodrow on Pipetrial’s Emery Hill, known for its theatre district and considerate architecture. It was the same room they’d used for the past five months and Liam had to confess it had come to feel somewhat like a second home. ‘Here’, Liam could relax. ‘Here’, Liam didn’t constantly have to anticipate the needs of someone else. ‘Here’, Liam was experiencing rather disconcerting feelings toward a young hustler that he had been sent to vet as a potential companion for his boss. ‘Here’, Liam was just as much on the clock as Niall. Niall just didn’t know it.

“What?”

Liam looked up, aware that his contemplations had cast a shadow over his face and Niall had seen it. The lad crumpled up his sandwich wrapper and chucked it neatly into the bin before snuggling up against Liam’s chest. “Alright?” Niall asked, a bit of ketchup staining the corner of his mouth.

“Yep,” Liam replied, using his thumb to snag that dot of ketchup and using the ketchup to avoid making eye contact.

“You were gloomy last time, too,” Niall pointed out, pulling Liam’s shirt out of his pants to get access to the flesh beneath. Liam did the same, tucking Niall against him and gently kissing the line of his throat.

“Things’re just rough at work,” Liam replied, dismissing the topic pointedly and finally by pressing his lips into Niall’s and grabbing the boy’s ass to lock their hips together.

Niall rarely hurried Liam, unless it was in an authentic fever of horniness that demanded more fervent fucking. Liam loved that about Niall. There were many things Liam loved about Niall. He loved the way Niall could wriggle out of his clothing with only barely breaking a kiss. He loved the way Niall was so sensitive and responded so naively to every touch, every thrust. He loved the way Niall would kiss his eyebrow and his cheekbone and his chin instead of just his lips. He loved the way Niall would sleepily push his hips back into Liam’s hands when Liam woke up at 4 am and needed to fuck him again. He loved the way Niall would come without a hand on his dick if Liam hit his prostate just right. He loved the way Niall was an unapologetic cuddler.

Of course, all these things that Liam loved so much about him were the very things that made Niall so perfect for Harry Styles. Yet, that didn’t stop him from unrolling a condom over his cock, spreading Niall’s thighs and pushing up into the willing hole that was much too tight for someone who did this professionally. Niall huffed and curled his hips for a moment before relaxing into the familiar girth inside him. Liam kissed him again, biting his upper lip as Niall hiked his ankles up higher on Liam’s back and moaned softly.

Liam had fantasies about what would happen if Harry didn’t want Niall in the end. To try to steal the boy away while Harry was still considering him would be the last mistake he’d ever make, but if Harry willingly threw him over –

                But Liam couldn’t afford to explore that avenue of thought for fear he wouldn’t be able to accept an alternate outcome. So he shifted his focus to the panting boy beneath him and savored every moment, suspecting the hours in which he got to call Niall his were swiftly running out.

**3917 Ferber Avenue**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                “Hey, Zayn!”

                It was 8 am and Zayn was heading home from his shift when he saw the bright boyish grin that was coming his way. “Hey, Niall.”

                Chalcedony Circle used to be one of the boroughs that tourists were told to avoid by flight attendants before disembarking into Pipetrial’s Cadmia Airport. It was still crime-riddled and run down, but the starving artists and struggling actors who had wanted to make it in Emery Hill’s theaters and galleries had tumbled down into the far more affordable valley of Chalcedony Circle and were slowly gentrifying it. It was rumored that within a few years’ time, the Circle would be on par with Bismuth Valley, a once prosperous and refined neighborhood, now becoming more unconventional due to the ever-encroaching overspill from the Ironworks.

                “Your badge is showing,” Niall said, pressing a finger into the hard plate of leather against Zayn’s chest. The badge was not visible. But Zayn ducked his head anyway and Niall brazenly flicked his nose. Niall was still laughing even as Zayn playfully grappled him in a headlock and stuffed him in his armpit.

                “That’s a felony, you know – flicking a police officer in the nose!” Zayn threatened, his voice hitching both from Niall’s struggles and from trying not to laugh.

                “I’ll never do it again! I’ll never, ever do it again!” Niall promised, lying. Zayn drove a wicked noogie into Niall’s scalp, but he shortly let him go, ruffling his hair. The lad skittered away, readjusting his clothes, face bright red.

                “Louis ok last night?” Niall asked, his expression so innocent and refreshing it seemed impossible to imagine him as ever having suffered hardship.

                Zayn’s good humor faded. He hated this arrangement. It had been nearly a year since he’d walked to this street corner and had two sweet faced young hustlers proposition him, not knowing he was a plain clothes cop. The first time it was easy. He’d slapped cuffs on them, hauled them into jail and let the law run its course. Prostitution was so prevalent in this jurisdiction that first time offenders had to endure little more than a tongue lashing from the presiding judge before they were released back to the streets.

The second time was harder. He’d busted them individually: Niall, when he was leaning into a car window haggling prices with the man inside, Louis when he’d been caught shooting heroin in a gas station bathroom. He’d busted Niall first and mused at the boy’s good humor about being taken into the clink again. Niall had prattled and chatted and he’d even managed -- as he was sitting in the back of a police car, tangling his fingers in the division grate to get closer -- to engage Zayn in a conversation about the upcoming football season. By the time they had arrived at the local precinct, Zayn was in good spirits and thoroughly enlightened as to what Manchester United needed to do if they wanted a chance at the cup.

Busting Louis wasn’t as cheerful because the boy wasn’t really in any condition to talk. Or sit up straight. He kept watching the lad in his rear-view and throwing out intermittently, “You ok back there?” to make sure he didn’t need to get the kid to the hospital, first. Louis would respond with an atonal groan that at least let Zayn know he was alive. At one of the red lights on the way to the precinct, Zayn looked up in the rear-view mirror again and saw the boy, his head tipped back over the seat, his eyelids slipping languidly over his eyeballs and his pink tongue sneaking out periodically to wet his lips. Then he pushed back against the seat and stretched all the way from his fingertips to his toes as if he just wanted to revel in the pleasure of having a body. Zayn watched him in the rearview long enough that the cars behind him had to honk to let him know the light had turned green. Then, he looked back at the road and shortly booked Louis for drug possession and being under the influence.

                When Louis was released two days later, it was Niall who came to pick him up at the 12th Precinct, Chalcedony Circle, and Zayn had been loitering in the lobby, waiting for him.

                “Hey,” Niall said upon seeing him, smiling softly despite the disturbing circumstances. Zayn was disproportionately pleased that Niall had remembered him. As for Niall, there was no chance in hell he was going to forget the tall, exotic cop with eyelashes that went for miles and cheekbones that should be registered as weaponry. “You found him?”

                “Yeah,” Zayn replied. The lobby was busy, filled to bursting with gang members, drug addicts and whores, some of whom Niall recognized and acknowledged with a little nod.

“Come with me a minute,” Zayn said, taking him by the elbow and leading him through the pair of double doors that separated the offices from the rabble. Niall was a little startled, but he followed the brooding cop whom he instinctively trusted. Several officers gave them curious glances as they passed down the halls, but every one of them was too busy to make it their business.

                “Listen, kid,” Zayn said, “I’m telling you now – get out of this city and take your friend with you. Clean him up. Get off the street. If either of you get busted one more time, you’re going to the pen. You know what that means?”

                “Prison,” Niall answered practically.

                Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Prison. And you boys wouldn’t last a week in there.” It was no idle threat and Zayn knew it even if the Niall didn’t. The local penitentiary, in the increasingly junky Vicon Village, was a poorly facilitated bedlam where hardened criminals and petty offenders were thrown together in a volatile, lazily supervised milieu. Zayn knew what happened to men in there and he knew exactly what would happen to two fresh, pretty boys who hadn’t the wits or brawn to defend themselves.

                “What do you care, Officer –“

                “Malik.”

                “Malik? Ok, Malik. What do you care, Officer Malik?”

                Zayn, who hadn’t removed his hand from Niall’s arm when he’d dragged him in here, removed it now and stuffed it into his pocket. He shrugged and tried to make it look effortless and natural. “I dunno. You two are different from the other trash I drag in here.” Niall’s gaze, which was usually innocent and wide-eyed, turned shrewd as he scanned over Zayn’s body.

                “Y’know… We could give you a ‘good cop’ discount if you’re interested…”

                Zayn stared at Niall with dull stupefaction before he said flatly, “You did not just proposition me in a police station.” Niall shrugged and his shrug actually did look effortless and natural.

                “Worth a shot.”

                “No, it isn’t,” Zayn hissed, crowding him back into the wall. “That’s what I’m talking about, kid, you get caught one more time and I can’t… Nothing will keep you out of prison! You know what it’d be like in there for you?”

“Free room and board?” Niall answered smartly.

“You’d get raped – repeatedly. And you’d take drugs to escape it, but god only knows what they cut that shit with in there. You’d be dead within the year.”

                That seemed to finally hit the mark. Zayn could see the fear rising in the young man’s eyes and could hear his breath falter slightly. “I—“ Niall said softly, his defenses crumbling, “I can’t make him stop. Louis – I can’t make him stop, he won’t… I can’t watch him all the time and I don’t know where he gets it and I have to work harder to make up for what he spends on drugs and I can’t –“

                “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zayn held up his hands, not wanting the kid to breakdown right there in the hallway. “There are clinics, they’re free, they’ll help. I can give you the information, but you have to get him to go and you have to stop turning tricks, alright?”

                “But how’re we supposed to _eat_?”

                That was the question Zayn didn’t have an answer for and he said the only thing he could think of to say, which was completely useless, “Find something else.”

                The expression on Niall’ face made it clear that Zayn had lost him with those words. He was scowling and he pushed his hands hard into his pockets. “Thanks a lot,” he sassed, turning from Zayn and toward the double doors. Before he could reach them, Zayn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into the alcove next to the drinking fountain. “Look,” he sighed, “Just… Get him clean, alright? I’ll turn a blind eye to the whoring, just… Get him clean.”

                Niall stared at him for several seconds, his lips set in a frown of disbelief. “Why would you do that for us?”

                “Because it isn’t working,” Zayn said, in perfect honesty. “The system isn’t working, we’re not helping anybody. We’re just sweeping people under the rug and I just… I have to try something else.”

                Niall didn’t seem convinced. “You sure you don’t just want to fuck us?”

                Zayn dropped his arms to his sides and shot a glance up at heaven for support. “Just _clean him up_ , Niall! For fuck’s sake!”

                “Will you help me?”

                “What?”

                “I can’t do it on my own,” Niall looked up at him with those wondrous blue eyes and Zayn had a long-standing weakness for blue eyes, “I need help.”

                “I already told you I won’t haul you in for –“

                “But I can’t watch him all the time! I need another pair of eyes.” Bold, clever fingers took hold of Zayn’s coat and Niall pulled him in against his body so Zayn could feel the heat coming off him. “Please?”

                Zayn knew he was being manipulated.   Even though it was obvious, he couldn’t stop himself from falling subject to it. “I – look, you’re part of my beat, I can check in on you now and then, ok?”

                Niall smiled, slow and sincere and oh-so toe curling. “Thank you.” He leaned in and Zayn could feel his breath against his lips and for a moment, he was certain he was going to be kissed. Determined to not be intimidated, Zayn didn’t back away. The soft lips never came, however, just another sweetly delivered question: “Can I go see him, now?”

                “Uh. Yeah. Yeah. Lemme go get the – Just c’mon.”

                And that was how it started, this strange, atypical friendship between a cop and the boys he should’ve been arresting. Zayn’s promise to ‘check in on them now and then’ was kept with such fealty that ‘now and then’ quickly became ‘nightly’ and then ‘hourly’. Niall likewise kept his side of the bargain by doing everything in his power to rehabilitate the gamine street hustler who had been his best and, until Zayn’s appearance in their lives, only friend. Louis was slow to accept the aid from either of them, but together they were a force that even Louis’ spunky stubbornness couldn’t withstand.

               “Yeah,” Zayn sighed, bringing himself back to the present. “Louis’ ok. He got in just a couple of hours ago.”

Niall could feel Zayn’s eyes on him, studying him intimately to make sure he wasn’t hiding a limp or favoring some injured body part. It was just something he’d had to get used to once Zayn had become their self-appointed protector. It was a very small price to pay.

“I’m fine,” Niall said softly. “It was just Liam last night.”

“I know, I just—“ Zayn cut himself off. Then he just shook his head. “I’m going home. You take care, yeah?”

Niall smiled at him and gave him a little wave before unlocking the door to his apartment building and hustling inside.

Niall and Louis having a place to live was something new and was entirely the result of the Liam-generated income. Five months ago Niall and Louis had been sharing a two man tent under an off-ramp in the Ironworks and that tent had sprung a leak when another transient had grown jealous of their prime realty and slashed a gaping hole in the roof. So, tentless and with the first reliable source of income either one of them had ever had in their lives, it seemed the obvious choice to get an apartment. An apartment in their beloved, hipster-infested Chalcedony Circle.

To call it an apartment, however, would’ve been generous bordering on delusional. In reality, it was a supply closet that the super of the building had renovated into a living space. It should be mentioned that to the super, ‘renovation’ consisted solely of taking out the mops, buckets, sponges, bleach and the metal shelving that held them. The boys still had to use the public bathrooms on the first floor and shower by breaking into motel rooms.

When Niall opened the door, he didn’t bother to pull on the chain for the single bare light bulb that hung in the center of the room. He knew where everything was in the pitch black so he quietly kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers before crawling onto the thin mattress he shared with his best friend.

Louis was there, exactly where Niall knew he would be, curled up on his side and facing the wall. Niall spooned around him and nuzzled into his shoulder, feeling the other boy wake with a deep inhale.

“Hi,” Louis said sleepily.

“Hi,” Niall replied.  The boy in his arms wiggled and shuffled about briefly before there was a soft buffeting against Niall’s face. He recognized it immediately and took hold of the faded and tattered stuffed bunny that Louis was clumsily offering him. It used to be yellow, its name was Benji and it was the only thing Niall had taken with him from his childhood home.

“Hi, cuddle boo!” Niall cooed, tucking the toy under his chin before pulling Louis more snugly against him.

“You’re more excited to see that rabbit than me.”

“He’s a bunny and don’t be ridiculous. How you do last night?”

He felt Louis shrug. “Couple a blowjobs and screwed a little Asian guy.”

That made Niall chortle softly.

“Yeah, you laugh,” Louis said, glee in his voice despite himself. “We can’t all land a prince charming. How was it?”

“You know. Good.”

“You know. Good,” Louis mocked him, imitating his Irish lilt in a theatrical display of envy. It made Niall stifle another laugh against the back of his friend’s neck.

“Nothing weird?” Louis followed up.

“No. Not really. I mean… He did take a few pictures of me after, but that’s not weird.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“That’s weird,” Louis said, breaking it.

“It’s not weird! He’s taken loads of pictures of me! Just never.. y’know… after, like that.”

“Why did he want them?”

“I don’t know! To look at them later or something, probably.” Liam’s exact words had been, “ _You know, there’s a week between now and when I see you again. Just want something to hold me over.”_

“Did he make you do weird stuff for them?”

“No, he just—Look, it wasn’t weird. Why are you so convinced he’s going to do something weird?” Niall had to loosen his grip when he felt Louis turn over in the bed and face him. It was purely symbolic since the windowless room offered no light for them to make eye contact.

“Because,” Louis said seriously, “No one is going to be that good to you and then turn out to not be a complete fucking psycho.”

“Liam’s not a psycho,” Niall insisted, ducking his head until he felt Louis’ forehead press against his own. When the other boy sighed, Niall felt it on his cheek.

“You sure?”

Despite his insistence, Niall wasn’t completely sure, no. He was just as aware as Louis that when you were a hustler in this desperate city, things that seemed too good to be true always were. But without Liam, they would be back on the street where Louis would have easy access to smack, and what’s more, secret psycho or not, Niall couldn’t imagine life without the soft-spoken, even tempered bodyguard who – so his street-wise told him – was the only point in the entire city that was actually safe.

“I’m sure,” he nodded, leaning in to kiss what turned out to be Louis’ left nostril.

“Okay. But he does anything weird, you tell me, alright?”

Niall laughed, his squeaky guffaw a little too loud for the dark room. “What’ll you do if he does? Beat him up?” Louis arms wrapped around Niall’s waist as he pulled him closer, their laughter meeting in the middle. “No, stupid, I’ll tell Zayn.”

“Scary.”

“Zayn’s totally scary.”

“Ran into him on my way up.”

“How’d he look?”

“Worried.”

Louis snorted against Niall’s shoulder and Niall felt the wet.

“Louis, you snotted on me.”

“Zayn always looks worried,” Louis said as he wiped away what he’d just deposited on Niall’s skin. “He thinks I’m gonna fall off the wagon.”

“You’ve been sober for six and a half months. He can chill out.”

“He cares about us.” Louis was quiet a moment, playing with the frayed waistband of Niall’s shorts. Then he said, “He should let me give him a freebie.”

“You wish,” Niall sassed. In response, Louis dug his fingers into the ticklish spots on Niall’s lower back and made the Irish boy whine and wriggle and try to fight back through the giggles. But Louis was determined and easily had him pinned. Luckily, the victor was merciful and when they were both out of breath, Louis curled up on top of his younger friend and snuggled in. There was a moment when Niall assumed that they were both falling asleep, when Louis said softly, “I wish Zayn was my Liam.”

There was nothing Niall could think of to say to that. He resorted to stroking his fingers through Louis’ hair while the sounds of the city waking up wafted in through the walls.


	2. Beryl Heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Bad sex in this. No rape, but a typical, unpleasant encounter for a prostitute. To skip it, stop reading when the scene shifts to the Ironworks. Beware the Ironworks.

**8227 57 th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                Any hope that Harry’s fascination with Niall was dwindling died a swift death as soon as Liam showed him the pictures he’d taken of the boy. Harry was sitting in his large, angular office chair, behind his tidy, glass desk looking elegant but relaxed in a long sleeved, ribbed shirt and jeans. The iPad he was using to peruse the pictures was dwarfed in his large hand and he used the other to gracefully flip between stills. With each new image that filled the screen, Liam could see Harry’s lips getting softer and suppler as if they were anticipating kisses.

                “Tell him not to fuck anybody for the next week,” Harry said, not looking up from the form that had so clearly enchanted him. Liam could tell by the dilation in Harry’s eyes that his employer’s mind had gone into that strange, scary place where nothing existed but Harry’s selfish wants and desires.

                “Harry,” Liam said, his voice flat with disapproval. “That’s how he makes his living. He’s not going to starve for a week because someone he doesn’t know is possessive of him.”

                The mop of brown curls lifted as awareness broke over the business and property tycoon-to-be and the disconcerting haze of egocentricity dissipated somewhat from the young man’s features.

                “Have you asked him?” Harry asked, his green eyes flicking up to get a read on his oldest confidante.

                “Asked him--?”

                “Why he does it.”

                Liam cleared his throat. Harry was determined to make him ask the questions Liam felt he had no right to. “No. I haven’t asked him.”

                “Do it,” Harry ordered, getting to the end of Liam’s pictures and scrolling back to the beginning to go through them again. These weren’t the first pictures Liam had brought back for Harry, but they were the first set he’d brought back of Niall naked and freshly fucked. In them, the Irishman was reclining on the bed, unselfconscious and relaxed, smiling with an innocent openness and trust that was quite a rare commodity in Pipetrial. It was easy to see what Harry found so captivating.

                “Alright,” Liam nodded.

                “Ask him everything. And get him tested.”

                Liam took a deep breath and looked out of the enormous plate glass windows in Harry’s office. This high up, dwarfing the other buildings around them, Liam could imagine they were the only two people in this overpopulated city. They were in the Heights in the Upper West Side and Harry’s building overlooked Avalite Park, which divided Beryl Heights from the Financial District. It was one of the few spots of green in Pipetrial, and Liam was pleased he often had occasion to look at it, if not visit.

                “So you want him, then?” Liam asked, his attention still fixed on the canopy of trees below him.

                “If everything checks out, then yeah. I want him.”

                Liam didn’t reply, but studied the swaths of grey that cut through the green of the park, trying to occupy himself with whether or not there were people on the paths.

                “Something wrong, Liam?”

                The bodyguard turned his eyes back to the room and found a penetrating emerald gaze cutting right through him. Harry could slice anyone apart with the grace of a sushi chef with those insightful eyes and Liam decided to retain his dignity and not answer to what Harry had clearly deduced already. It made Harry smile and he finally set aside the iPad, flopping back into his throne-like chair with boyish carelessness.

                “Well, he must really be something if you’re that upset about handing him over. This going to be a problem?”

                “No,” Liam said immediately, risking further exposure by maintaining eye contact with his employer. Harry started swiveling playfully in his chair. “Really? It’s not going to bother you to know I’m fucking him?” Liam had looked away from him again at that. Harry dug harder, “Every single night?” Liam’s face was stony. “Bareback?” Still nothing. “So hard he won’t walk for days?”

                “Harry,” Liam finally cracked.

                “Yes?”

                “You are such a cunt.”

                It took an eerily quiet moment for Harry to process that before he tucked himself up in a fit of snickers that Liam found catching. They laughed at each other for a healthy stretch before Liam stood up and retrieved the iPad from the desk.

                “And fuck you, I’m keeping these,” he said, doing one last scroll through the images.

                “Whatever,” Harry shrugged, rising and striding over to the sideboard where the coffee was sitting. That was when Liam noticed he was only wearing socks.

                “Your dad know you conduct business without shoes on?”

                Harry finished pouring himself a cup of coffee before glancing over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. “What is it with you and feet, anyway?”

                “They’re weird. But you have Mr. Delatour from the bank coming in in about fifteen minutes and –“

                “Don’t mother me, Liam, I don’t even let my mother mother me.”

                “You’d do well with a bit of mothering. Maybe you wouldn’t keep making the same mistakes.”

                Harry held his coffee cup delicately between the fingertips of both hands and he focused on it as he patiently strode back to his desk, sat down, got comfortable and looked up at his friend and bodyguard. “What mistake is that, Liam?”

                Something painful flashed across Liam’s face, disappeared, and then reappeared in his voice. “Picking up strange boys and thinking it’ll make you happy.”

                “Oh, Jesus Christ, Liam, we talked about this—!”

                “Go out! Find a normal boy!”

                “You know I can’t do that!”

                “I know you don’t want to do that, Harry.”

                “I’m not talking with you about this, we decided this months ago, you agreed to it then!” Harry barked at him. “You’re just getting cold feet now because it’s becoming a reality! _You_ are the one who’s vetting this kid, Liam—“

                “I know!”

                “—So, if there’s something you’re not telling me, you’d better fucking come out with it!”

                “It isn’t about Niall, Harry, it’s about you, this isn’t normal!”

                “No,” Harry’s voice slipped seamlessly out of an angry roar and into something stalwart and immovable. “This is settled. We’re not going over it again.”

                Liam had to make one final attempt, “But, Harry, after what happened with Justin—“

                “Is Niall going to be another Justin?” Harry asked, his voice just as cutting as his eyes could be.

                “No,” Liam conceded.

                “Then we’re done. Get out.”

**Corner of Kirkham Boulevard and 22 nd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                Zayn watched as Louis negotiated with a man through the window of a 1999 Honda Civic, his hips rocking back and forth in an unconscious invitation. The transaction didn’t seem to be going well. Louis had made to walk away twice already, but twice he went back to the window. It was making Zayn nervous. He edged closer to the couple, every carbon based atom in him wanting to flash his badge and make the Civic run screaming, but he knew that if he spoiled a potential client for Louis, the kid would be furious with him; and probably demand Zayn reimburse him for whatever income he’d lost.

                “Look,” he heard Louis say as the boy backed away from the window again, “I’m telling you, I’m not gonna do that, no matter how much you pay me! You wanna do that, you go find the boys on Butcher’s Corner, alright?”

                As Zayn neared the car, he felt his skin start to prickle in agitation. There was a deep voice coming from the window and the man sounded angry, even though Zayn couldn’t make out the words. Louis had caught sight of Zayn and, with his shoulders hunched and his fists pushed deep into his pockets, headed in his direction.

                The car door opened with an alarming clank and from it emerged a man well over six feet who wore the uniform of the local teamsters union. His teeth were bared in a grimace that sliced through his overgrown beard and he was charging at Louis, growling fiercely, “You get in my fucking car, you little slut or I’ll cut your fucking –“ The tirade was cut short by a quick fist to the man’s sternum. It wasn’t enough to drop him, or even cause him much pain, but the surprise of it did stop him dead in his tracks. Zayn stood before him, keeping a hand on the large stranger’s chest to keep him from going after Louis again.

                “Get in your car and get the fuck out.”

                The teamster smacked Zayn’s hand away and snagged the collar of Zayn’s shirt in a fist the size of a pumpkin. “And who the fuck do you think you are?”

                Zayn didn’t say anything. He just tugged at his lanyard and revealed his badge, watching as the man’s eyes widened with recognition.

                After the tail lights of the Honda were no longer visible, Zayn finally looked back to see Louis standing on the sidewalk, small and sheepish in his denim vest and jeans with strategically ripped holes.

                “Thanks,” Louis said, offering a tentative smile.

                “Louis, if I hadn’t been here—“

                “I know,” Louis said, cutting him off and hugging himself against the cold – either the cold or the shame. Zayn sighed under Louis’ bright blue eyes. The policeman looked so much older than he was, the burden of protecting these boys evident in his gait as he shambled toward the sidewalk.

                “But if I _hadn’t_ been—“

                “But you were,” Louis interrupted again. A pair of tired gold eyes locked into his and Louis said quietly, “If you let your mind go to all the things that might have happened out here, you’ll go crazy.”

                “I’m already crazy, Louis. It’s crazy that I let you do this at all. I should’ve brought you in months ago.” Zayn hung his head and pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes, the gold wedding ring on his finger glinting for a moment in the light. He felt the warmth of Louis’ body when the boy came closer, his lovely gamine face so trusting and inviting. He parted his soft pink lips and muttered, “We’d be lost without you.”

                Zayn swallowed and didn’t know what to say – didn’t know what to do – until Louis ducked his head and made to bring their lips together in what Zayn imagined would’ve been a very sweet, melting kiss. But he would never know because he jerked his head away and took a step back. “Don’t,” he said sternly. “Don’t do that.”

                “I just want to say thanks,” Louis shrugged bashfully.

                “I know, but don’t do it… like that.”

                A loud, tinny roar came from half a block away. Madame Ovary was standing with her crew of trannies, her arm locked protectively around a willowy, pale boy who looked like he should be at home studying for a biology final. Apparently, he was a point of contention between the Madame and two of her burlier companions. Zayn and Louis watched the scuffle until it died down and they felt it was safe enough to face each other again.

                “Where’s Niall?” Zayn asked.

                “Got in a beige Camero ‘bout half an hour ago.”

                “You get the license plate?”

                Louis exposed the inside of his forearm where there were three rows of numbers written in blue ink, the first two crossed out.

                “Good boy,” Zayn murmured, but Louis wasn’t listening. His eyes were trained on a car that was prowling slowly down their block. It was a sleek, black Lexus with windows tinted several shades too dark to be legal and Louis recognized it immediately.

                “Hey!” he barked, waving at the invisible driver within. Zayn turned to look but as he did so, Louis blew by him, scurrying eagerly to the window that was rolling down.

                Zayn watched him go, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop him.

                The car was a company car and one that Liam could never afford on his own. But Harry had a quirk that dictated that all Styles employees could only be seen in the best of cars, so as to maintain the brand reputation. Liam wasn’t about to complain.

                It was Monday night and Liam wasn’t certain Niall would even be out, or what corner he would be on even if he was. So he was awfully relieved when he saw the pretty twink Niall was usually hanging around with flailing at him on the corner of Kirkham and 22nd.        

                “Hi!” the boy chirped, leaning in through the window, his smile bright and inviting. “Can I help you?”

                Liam couldn’t resist smiling back at the friendly kid as he replied, “Yeah, I think so. You seen Niall around tonight?”

                “Niall’s with another john,” the boy replied, his hips rolling in that way Zayn had noticed earlier. “But I’m free! What can I do for you?”

                Liam’s face darkened a little bit. He checked the clock and saw it was only 11:34. He had time to wait, but this wasn’t a very good neighborhood to cruise around in with a fancy car.

                “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Liam asked, watching disappointment creep into the boy’s features.

                “Well, no. Shouldn’t be too long… You _sure_ I can’t do anything for you? Anything at all?”

                The young lad’s insistence implied to Liam that he knew who he was. It wasn’t too difficult to believe since every Thursday when he came to pick up Niall, this slender slip of a boy was always with him.

                “You’re Niall’s friend, huh?”

                “Best friend. I’m Louis.” He reached a hand into the car and Liam hesitated to touch it. He choked down his squeamishness, however and shook Louis’ hand.

                “Nice to meet you.”

                “Niall talks about you a lot, you know,” Louis offered.

                “Really?”

                “Yep. Don’t turn freaky on him, alright? He’s a really good guy.”

                “I – what?”

                “You know what I mean. Don’t freak out on him.”

                “I have no intention of freaking out on him,” Liam scowled, not knowing if he should be confused or just go straight for offended.

                “Good. Because he likes you.”

                “Oh.”

                “I mean, he really likes you. _Actually_ likes you.”

                “I… I like him, too.”

                “Obviously,” Louis smirked at him knowingly, the little shit. “But if you ever take him away from me, I’ll find you in the night and slit your throat.”

                Liam stared. Louis’ warm, affable smirk was still in place, but something made the trained killer in Liam stand up and recognize its like.

**Brook Street Alley**

**Ironworks, Pipetrial City**

                The beige Camero was owned by one of the local dock workers, a man in his 40’s, overweight, sweaty and no doubt a sufferer of many ingrown hairs if his face and neck were anything to go by. His silver/black hair was pulled back into a nub of a ponytail in the back and Niall could tell the grease he’d used to slick it was old.

                “You swear you’re of age?” the man asked with an accent that wasn’t local.

                “Yeah,” Niall said, watching the city pass them by as they crawled at a snail’s pace through one of the worst neighborhoods Pipetrial City had to offer. The Ironworks was only a few blocks North of Chalcedony Circle and no younger generation with a bit of spare change was coming to save it. The Ironworks was inhabited by factory workers and the people who were once factory workers before their poverty brushed them into a far more unsavory lifestyle. Niall watched it pass, leaning against the window, the breath from his nose steaming up the glass.

                In their earlier negotiations, Niall had learned that the man was cheap and wouldn’t spring for a hotel, so Niall agreed to do their business in the back of his car in an unfrequented alley. It was always more risky, since any cop casually peeking their way would be under no illusions as to what was unfolding in a lone car rocking rhythmically in an alley. So Niall told him to throw in another $30 for the liability, even though he knew it wouldn’t save him if any cop other than Zayn found them.

                The Dockworker reached over and put his hand on Niall’s thigh, rubbing and fondling him. “You sure are pretty,” he said, his voice already thick with want. “And young… could almost imagine you’re a virgin…”

                Niall sighed and watched as the window fogged again. “You can imagine whatever you want,” he said, lifting his finger to paint a few squiggles on the glass. At one point in time, he would’ve been drawing smiley faces, but at the moment he didn’t feel like it.

                “How many men you fuck tonight already?” The man’s hand had found its way into one of the holes in Niall’s jeans and had slipped inside, pawing hungrily at him.

                “I gave one guy a blowjob and one guy a handie.”           

                “So I’ll be the first to have your ass.”

                Niall turned to look at him dully. “Tonight.”

                Niall felt the intruder in his pants edge its way up between his legs and he felt his body start to shut down and his mind start to go away. “Here,” he said, as the car approached the alley he usually used to conduct business. “This is it, turn here. If you park behind this dumpster, it’s good cover.”

                When the car came to a stop, the large man took his hand from his jeans and stroked it through Niall’s hair. “C’mere, slut,” he said, his fingers curling into a fist in Niall’s locks, “Give us a kiss, yeah?”

                “You have to pay extra for that.”             

                “Christ, kid, whaddya want?”

                “Another $15.”

                “Who’s fucking who here? Fine! Just c’mere!” The dockworker was bigger than Niall by far, but when the man tried to pull him in, Niall still managed to shoot an arm out and brace himself against the flabby chest, keeping his distance. “Pay first.”

                The fist in his hair relinquished its grip and the man shifted his bulk to retrieve his wallet out of his pocket. After much swearing and grumbling, the man stuffed a wad of money in Niall’s hand, barking, “There! That’s $50 for the fuck, $30 for the alley and $15 for a few fucking kisses. We good, now?”

                Niall took his time counting out the money and once he was satisfied it was all there, he nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.”

                “Finally,” Dockworker replied in irritation, grabbing Niall by the hair again and kissing him fiercely.

                Niall had a trick when kissing men he didn’t like: he would hold his breath so he didn’t have to taste them. Most of the time he didn’t even have to worry about kissing back because johns were so clumsy and desperate that they just ravaged him with little concern for finesse or reciprocity. Such was the case here and as soon as the clammy mouth left his, Niall sucked in a lungful of air that was grossly misinterpreted.

                “Liked it, huh? Make you pant for me, boy? Maybe you’re the one who should be paying me, huh?” That was a joke Niall heard several times every night and it was never funny. “Get in the back and I’ll make you really gag for it, pig.”

                Niall shoved the bills in his back pocket as he swung himself out of the passenger seat and crawled into the back. The seats were stained and old, cracked and torn. It smelled like stale gas station food.

Dockworker opened the other door and struggled to fit his corpulent mass into the backseat with him. It was such a physical exertion for him, he was panting and gasping to the point where Niall hoped he was too exhausted to perform, but as soon as the door was closed, Dockworker was kissing him again and tugging at his jeans, eager to expose him.

                “You just get out of school?” Dockworker leered at him, squeezing the soft mounds of Niall’s ass in his hands when it was bare and manhandling him onto all fours. Of course this thug wasn’t capable of anything more imaginative. “You’re so pretty I bet you’re one of those rich kids from Beryl Heights. Sneak away from your rich mommy and daddy cause you can’t wait to know what a proper cock feels like…”

                Niall folded his forearms on the armrest and propped his chin up against the window sill so he could look out. It wasn’t much of a view but it was better than what was behind him.

“Oh, yeah, I know your type. Aching to get your little hole filled by a real man!” The sound of a zipper being undone rang throughout the back seat and Niall felt two meaty hands prying him open. “Well, don’t worry, slut, you’ll get fucked good tonight!” Niall was already tuning out the lewd, disturbing prattle of the man behind him when he felt a nudging at his hole that was definitely not covered in latex.

                “Whoa!” Niall barked, quickly spinning out of the man’s grasp and protecting his ass by sitting on it. “Condom, man!”

                “What?” Dockworker was so lust-hazed, he failed to comprehend the obvious.

                “You’re not fucking me without a condom!”

                “You gotta be fucking kidding me! For $50 you expect me to use a condom?” The man looked ridiculous, his dirty jeans shoved down around his thighs and his cock peeking out from under his furry beer belly like dog sniffing under a blanket.

                “Condom,” Niall insisted, diving for his pants and pulling a rubber from one of the pockets before snapping it back and forth quickly in front of the man’s face.

                “I know whores working down the –“

                “Condom!” Niall said with such a stern finality that the large man relented and snatched the plastic packet from his hand, cursing Niall and his mother while he tore it open and struggled to get it on his todger. Niall just got back on his knees and kept his face to the window, trying to appreciate the way the wet pavement of the alley glowed with soft iridescence in the moonlight, but his contemplations where thwarted by a pudgy, throbbing cock worming its way into the most intimate part of his body.

                Niall hid his face in his arm and bit his lip. No matter how much he prepared himself before work, it never seemed to be enough; somehow he always felt virginally tight the first time each night. Dockworker moaned like a farting bear as he pushed the head of his cock past Niall’s entrance and burbled, “Oh, I knew it, I knew it! You’re a horny little virgin wanting your cherry popped!”

                Niall hated his job. He really hated it, but he’d never hated it more than after Liam came into his life. Knowing that he could be treated well, that there was someone out there that was willing to feed him and pet him and take the time to prepare him, someone that got off on Niall getting off, made jobs like this all the more unbearable.

                Of course, the first time Liam rented him hadn’t gone off without a hitch. All the boys on Kirkham Street knew that when people with money rented whores like them, it was because they wanted to do things that the top companions wouldn’t do. The rich always wanted to thoroughly degrade, humiliate, torture and sometimes mutilate – that was what Niall had learned on the street. If it hadn’t been that neither Niall or Louis had eaten in a day and a half, Niall never would’ve gotten in that sleek, black Lexus, even though the man inside had such a sweet, bashful face and had seemed intent on having no one other than the cute Irish lad.

                But Niall kept waiting for the axe that never fell. Liam had taken him to dinner and watched him wolf down half the menu with a genuinely astonished expression and offered to buy him the other half of the menu if it meant Niall wouldn’t start chewing on him in the middle of the night. It took a few seconds for Niall to realize it was a joke. When they got into the hotel room, Liam had slowly stripped off Niall’s clothes and was about to take him to bed when he decided instead to take him into the bathtub. Niall had never had a client clean him before. And after they’d crawled into bed, flesh well scrubbed and smelling nice, they’d chastely agreed that they would both really like to watch the Championship playoffs, because they were both fervent football fans. Throughout the broadcast, Liam rather sneakily managed to scoot closer to Niall and get an arm around him. He knew Niall wasn’t a shy prom date, but Liam really didn’t know any other way to behave. By the time the game was over, Liam had gotten cozily spooned up behind him, his chin tucked into Niall’s shoulder.   They turned the television off after Munich had won and the room was filled with starchy silence. That’s when Liam started running his large, strong hands firmly and slowly over every part of Niall’s body and Niall finally began to relax. At least, Niall began to trust that Liam wasn’t going to fuck him with power tools and cut him into tiny pieces, but he didn’t necessarily relax. Such gentle treatment had the bizarre effect of making Niall cry. He felt it blossoming in him with powerful force and he knew there would be no denying it. So he kept his breathing steady and let the tears fall silently onto the pillow, knowing Liam couldn’t see him, but taking great comfort in that trustworthy, generous touch.

                “You like that, bitch? Tell me you like it!” Niall put his hand on the glass of the window to keep his face from going through it. The man behind him was pushing too hard and worse, he was hitting Niall’s prostate with every other thrust which made Niall’s cock harden against his will.

                There were a lot of tricks for getting through this and Niall had heard them all: Imagine it’s Brad Pitt (Niall didn’t like that, because the last thing he wanted was to enjoy this), imagine it’s someone you love (even worse, since he didn’t want to associate someone he loved with soul destroying fucking), make your mind go blank (Niall’s mind only ever ran out of control while this was happening), go to a happy place (‘happy place’ was, at best, a very vague notion to Niall) and just grit your teeth and bear it, which was what Niall had done for the majority of his career. Sometimes, he would disassociate and his mind would start running to things like how he was going to stretch his earnings out over the rest of the month or how he and Louis would spend the following day. But then Louis taught him the one trick that ever actually did any good and it was very simple: Breathe in for four beats, breathe out for four beats. The trick was to really feel your breath, to close your eyes focus. When you got really good at it, the beats weren’t just numbers that you heard in your head, but they were the beat of your own heart. In for four heartbeats, out for four heartbeats. Niall had only ever achieved this once, when he and Louis had had a particularly rough night and they healed themselves by curling up together and breathing – in for four beats, out for four beats, in for four heartbeats, out for four heartbeats, and Niall would swear their hearts had started beating out the same pattern together.

                Niall couldn’t hear his heartbeat, presently. He wasn’t sure he had one. The man just kept rutting, his thick, clumsy cock burrowing repeatedly into Niall’s insides. Dockworker was clearly one of those Romeos who thought fucking consisted entirely of the fastest, hardest hip thrashing he could achieve in his old age. His belly was slopping over Niall’s back and he could feel the man’s sweat dripping down his thighs. Luckily, the man’s dick wasn’t much to crow about, so he might be in good enough shape for another john this evening, but the pounding was wearing out the small of his back.

                “Squeeze me! Yeah, milk me with that tight little ass of yours!”

                Dockworker was pushing harder and faster now and when Niall braced himself against the window again, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass. The eyes that stared back at him were vacant and sunken as if trying to recede from the world.

                “Oh, fuck! Take it! Take it, piggy!” The man jackrabbiting into him screamed and Niall could feel the twitching of the cock inside him as the man came and Niall couldn’t be more relieved. He let the man finish, but as soon as he let go of his hips, Niall wriggled away and pulled his pants back up. He didn’t look back as he opened the car door and stumbled out into the alley.

                “Hey!” Dockworker called when he saw Niall wasn’t getting back in the front seat. “Hey! I’ll give you a ride back! Kid!”

                But Niall ignored him and walked more swiftly to the street, closing his eyes and praying for a world where every night was Thursday.

                Niall’s sense of time went a little cockamamie when he returned to his corner and saw Louis leaning in the window of what was clearly Liam’s car. Could it possibly be that for the first time in Niall’s life, somebody answered his prayers?

“Hey, babes!” Louis called, flitting over to his side like a wind-blown leaf. “Tonight’s your lucky night! Lover boy is here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have any male readers out there? I'm just curious. Love to hear from you :)


	3. Emery Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: Retellling of sexual abuse 
> 
> To skip, stop reading at "the night began passing them gently by when Niall eventually whispered..."

**Corner of Kirkham Boulevard and 22 nd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                It had been a while since Liam had seen Niall outside of the context of their weekly meetings and there he was, wiping his hands on what was once a trashy singlet and was now only the top half of a trashy singlet. Seeing him now, Liam was struck with the realization that Niall wasn’t always the happy-go-lucky, cheerful little sprite that he knew from room #213 of the Sheridan on 12th and Woodrow. The boy across the street from him now was dispirited, agitated and in need of the arm that Louis wrapped around him. There was admittedly a great deal of comfort for Liam knowing that Niall wouldn’t have to endure this much longer.

                Two pairs of blue eyes suddenly swung over to Liam in his car and he was warmed and excited to see the transformation in Niall upon recognizing his car. He lit up like starlight and waved at the black windows, his face suddenly colorful and animated where it had been grey and heavy before. Louis was smiling, too and there was something about the pair of them that was absolutely magnetic and Liam couldn’t stop a voice in his mind from whispering, “You know, you could buy them _both_ tonight.”

                Niall gave Louis a quick kiss before he skipped across the shiny black pavement and tumbled into Liam’s passenger’s seat.

                “Hi! Never expected to see you today! I mean, you are looking for me, right? Louis told me you were looking for me. This is so cool! Did you get a bonus at work or something?” Niall burbled, buckling himself in against the creamy leather.

                “Something like that,” Liam said, his eyes sparkling, so happy to just have this boy near him. He leaned over the center console and Niall met him in the middle in a warm, welcoming kiss that lingered a little longer than casual hello kisses usually should.

                “We gonna do the same thing tonight?” Niall asked. “Cause if we are, we can’t go to Pango’s. I promised Louis I wouldn’t have any more hummus because it makes me fart in my sleep. So he claims.”

                “I was—“ Liam was interrupted by his own chuckle and started again, “I actually had some other plans tonight...”

                “Yeah? What’re we doing?”

                “Well,” Liam cleared his throat, “If it was ok with you, I was hoping to take you out… some place nice. Y’know. Like I’d talked about. And, um…”

                “Well, I’m not—“

                “Hold on,” Liam interrupted him, needing to get to the tricky part before they hashed out the minor details. “I also was hoping to keep you a bit later tomorrow – same rate,” he was quick to add.

                “Ok,” Niall beamed, showing his crooked teeth which Liam found utterly adorable. “Why?”

                “Yeah,” Liam drawled slowly. “I got… an appointment for you in the morning. That I’d really appreciate if you attended.”

                Niall’s radiant expression faded. “An appointment? For what? A doctor?”

                “Yeah. A doctor. To check you for STDs and a few other things…”

                “What other things?” Niall asked warily.

                “Drugs,” Liam said, knowing as he said it that there had to be a better way to handle this situation, especially because he didn’t like the response he had prepared for the inevitable follow up question, which was:

                “Why?” Niall asked.

                “Because,” Liam gripped the steering wheel and stared at his whitening knuckles, “I just need to know.”

                He and Harry had talked about this. It was decided between them that Niall didn’t need to know what was going on until he’d passed the questions as well as the medical tests. It would be foolhardy to disclose their highly personal plan to someone if they consequently just chucked him back on the street again. Unfortunately, the effect it had on Niall was to make him nervous.

                “Well… Why?” the boy insisted.

                “Niall, it’s just a test. I’ll pay you for the time it takes you to do it and I’ll pay for you to get it done. I mean – It’s something you need to do anyway, isn’t it?”

                “No,” Niall said immediately, defensively. “No, I don’t want to know if I--. Look, I don’t want to know.”

                “Sweetheart—“ Liam reached out to stroke the boy’s bare, goosebumped bicep and intended to make another lame attempt at cajoling him when Niall said suddenly, “Is this because you want to fuck me without a condom?” His blue eyes were locked on the glove box and he pointedly didn’t look at Liam as he said softly, “Because I’d let you, you know. If that’s what you want.”

                The confession made Liam go a bit dizzy for an instant. Then he slowly took Niall’s hand and gently kissed each of his knuckles. He wouldn’t lie to the boy and confirm that was his motive, but it was an easy out to let him believe that was the case. When he looked up, Niall was watching him with a sweet, refreshing vulnerability and he whispered, “I’d let you do whatever you wanted with me.”

                It simultaneously broke Liam’s heart and turned him on to hear that. He pulled on Niall’s hand to bring him out of the corner of the seat and into a position where Liam could run his fingers through his dried out blonde hair.

                “Then let me take you to get tested tomorrow morning, ok?” He peppered kisses along Niall’s temple. “That’s what I want. Please?” There was a reluctant nod against his lips and he sighed with relief.

                “Thank you,” he said, tucking up under Niall’s jaw and kissing his throat before saying, “Let’s go eat.”

**23 Woodrow Avenue**

**Emery Hill, Pipetrial City**

                Niall was well aware that something about the sex tonight was very different. It wasn’t unusual for Liam to fuck him twice in one night and it was traditional that the second fuck was slower and a lot of it was spent gazing dreamily into each others’ eyes. But tonight, there was something more and if Niall had to put a word to it, he’d say Liam was desperate. It was obvious to Niall that Liam was fighting to stave off their orgasms as if this would be the last one they would ever have together. And Liam was capable of maintaining wistful eye contact for only a few moments before he would wince and hide under Niall’s jaw.

                “What’s wrong?” Niall choked out, unable to ignore it any longer, his toes curling in the duvet as he lifted his hips to push back on Liam’s cock.

                “Nothing,” Liam gasped in reply, slowing his pace again, clearly trying to calm his rising lust. It made Niall mewl and reach for his lover’s ass and try to get him pumping again, “Come on, Liam, fuck me! Deep! Hard! I wanna come!”

                “Hold on!”

                Niall whined and struggled to work himself over the hard rod inside him but Liam took hold of his hips and robbed him of his maneuverability. Niall’s whine became a snarl.

                “Liam! Fuck’s sake! What’s wrong with you?”

                “I just want it to last—“ Liam was panting hard, his rosy face set in firm concentration as Niall was practically kicking to get some leverage again.

                “Why?! We’ve been going at it at least an hour already, Liam, you’re gonna fucking kill me!”

                Liam studied his lover’s face. He was flushed red and his lips were parted in an open pant. His hair was disheveled and he had an expression on his face of utter, delicious wrack and ruin. He was completely undone and so beautiful that Liam kissed him soulfully and started thrusting again, muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just-- I just-- Niall--”

                Niall was shaking in his arms, the overexertion of their lovemaking having made him weak. He stroked his hands over Liam’s face and nuzzled his cheek. “You just what?”

                “I just—“ He tried to say it again, but the words stuck in his throat so he lifted Niall’s ankles up onto his shoulders and bent him in half for deeper, harder access.

                The wanton rutting was enough to drive the curiosity out of Niall’s brain and soon Liam felt the uncontrollable spasming of Niall’s hole around his cock which, coupled with the sonorous, primitive moans, alerted Liam that his lover was coming. Liam locked Niall’s hips onto the bed and pounded him hard, and when he finally came, he did so lost in the fantasy of Niall being solely and truly his.

                Niall’s world always went a little funny after a really good orgasm. He frequently lost his hearing for a few seconds and occasionally had such bodily disorientation that someone could tangle him up in his own limbs and hold him so tight he was incapable of moving without him even really being aware of it until after it had happened. Such was the case when he came to.

                Liam had somehow gotten Niall hugging his own torso and had linked their hands behind his back, which made for a pretty effective human straightjacket. Not that Niall would complain. Liam was giving him the softest, most luxurious kisses and rocking him gently. This, Niall was convinced, couldn’t be far from paradise. When he’d fully regained his senses, he leaned in to kiss Liam’s temple and whisper, “I think that broke a record.”

                Liam hid his smile in Niall’s shoulder.

                “But,” Niall continued, “I’m pretty sure you’ve taken me out of commission for tomorrow. No other johns for a day or two at least...”

                “Good.”

                Liam said it before he’d even really thought about the implications of it and before he could modulate his voice to sound something other than fiercely possessive. Niall pulled back as much as he could, which was little because Liam was holding him very tightly, to look at the other man’s face and deduce if Liam’s feelings were truly going in the direction Niall suspected they were.

                “Good, huh?”

                Liam felt a little trapped, but it was a corner of his own making and he knew it. The bright blue eyes that were glittering at him so hopefully were making quick work of his defenses, so he untangled himself from the Irish lad and kissed the bridge of his nose, asking, “You wanna order room service?”

                “It’s past 2 am,” Niall interjected, moving far too fast for someone so well fucked and rolling on top of Liam before he could get away. “Tell me why it’s good.”

                “Niall –“

                The boy leaned over and pressed his forehead into Liam’s and purred, “Tell me.” A pair of strong hands clamped onto his hips again and clearly intended to unseat him, but Niall fought back, twining his ankles together behind Liam’s back and squeezing tight. A scene of amateur Greco-Roman wrestling ensued, Liam clearly the superior combatant, but hindered drastically by his weakness for his adorable, giggling opponent.

                The residents of apartment #215 must have been rather miserable. Not only did they earlier have to endure the headboard-thumping, mattress-squeaking, animal grunting antics of the two men in #213, but now they were subjected to squawky chuckling, wall kicking and the sound of a ceramic bedside lamp being kicked over at approximately 2:46 am. #215, however, was none of #213’s concern at the moment.

                Eventually, Liam had Niall’s left arm wedged into the elbow of his right arm, which he kept easily pinned in one hand. He was sitting atop Niall’s thighs, so the smaller lad hadn’t even the hope of wiggling his hips to free himself. But he was still snortling, his beautiful, pearly tummy convulsing as he tried to get a handle on his snickers.

                He peeped up at the man who’d so easily dominated him and smiled adoringly. It made Liam close his eyes and bow his head against Niall’s bony elbow which was jutting up abstractly into the air.

                “Hey,” Niall said, nudging Liam with his thigh.

                It didn’t seem to work.

                “Liam. Liam. Hey. Liam. Liam. Hey. Hey. Hey. Liam.” Eventually the pestering got an amused snort out of the man and he looked down at the boy beneath him. Niall gave him another one of those blinding smiles and keened forward for a kiss Liam couldn’t help but give him. Their lips fit together perfectly, Niall sucking Liam’s full bottom lip into his mouth and tonguing it gently for a moment before he pulled back, looked at Liam with those searchlight eyes and whispered, “ _You_ have to say it before I can.”

                It took a second for Liam to understand what he meant by that, but as soon as it registered, he slowly righted himself, letting Niall out of his knot and inhaling hard to cool what might have swelled into panic in a lesser man. He deduced exactly the words Niall wanted him to say and knew even more clearly that he couldn’t, under threat of his life, say them. After several years of training in the army and subsequently working as a mercenary, Liam’s reaction to any kind of anxiety was to school his features into an utterly blank stare which freaked Niall out far more than if he’d had a window into the man’s distress. He sat up and immediately started stroking Liam’s shoulders as if to either soothe or unthaw him and he babbled, “It’s ok, it’s ok, I’ll say it back. I promise, Liam, I’ll say it back, you don’t have anything to be afraid of, we can make it work, I know we can, some way we can—“ But he stopped when a large, insistent hand folded over his mouth.

                “Shhh.” Liam locked eyes with him sternly and waited an instant to make sure Niall was focused on him. “I need to ask you some questions, understand? Don’t say anything, just nod.”

                Niall did.

                “They’re personal questions. Really personal, but you have to answer every single one. Ok?”

                Niall nodded again.

                “And you cannot lie. You absolutely cannot lie. You aren’t going to lie to me, are you, Niall?”

                Niall shook his head ‘no’.

                “Lastly,” Liam said quietly, his voice rasping, “You cannot ask me why I’m asking you. Or why I need to know. You understand?”

                Niall hesitated, his eyes flickering away. Liam gave him a gentle shake to retrieve his attention and repeated, “You understand me, Niall?”

                After a brief huff, the boy nodded affirmatively again. Liam kissed the back of his own hand where Niall’s lips would be on the other side and released his face. Niall stayed silent. He was bewildered, that much was evident, but the stronger force behind his obedience was shining brightly in his eyes, following Liam as he rose and went into the bathroom and returned with two small, plastic cups filled with cold, dirty Pipetrial water. Niall accepted the water gratefully before tucking himself back up against the headboard, clearly apprehensive about the curious turn the night had taken. Liam sat at his feet, wanting to apologize, wanting to comfort him, but knowing this unpleasant task had to be accomplished before they could move on. Unable to resist, Liam leaned in and gently kissed Niall’s kneecap, nuzzling into it as he muttered, “Why do you do this, Niall?”

                “Is that a rhetorical question?” Niall asked, his Irish lilt seeming a little flatter and less musical.

                “No,” Liam regretted saying. “I need to know. I need to know what made you… your life like this.” When Niall didn’t answer right away, Liam looked up and saw the boy more guarded and grim than he’d ever seen him. His jaw was set stubbornly and his brow had darkened, making his blue eyes stormy and unreadable.

                This was a horrible start and Liam wasn’t feeling very optimistic. “Niall—“

                “Can we do that one last?”

                Liam extended his hand, not liking this sudden and sharp-edged divide between them, and stroked down Niall’s foot, too shy to touch him some place more intimate. “I guess. Yeah. We can do that one last… Um… Are you—Do you have a boyfriend?”

                “What?” Niall’s blonde head whipped around and his expression was incredulous.

                “Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? Someone you—“

                “You fucking joking?”

                “No.”

                “No! ‘Course I don’t have a bloody boyfriend,” Niall pouted. “I’m not one of those pervy lads what has a normal, happy life and does this for kicks…”

                “What about Lewis?”

                “Louis? Louis isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just old mates. He took care of me when I moved here.”

                “You keep in touch with your family? Mother? Father?”

                Niall tucked his legs back tighter against himself and hugged them, peeping over his kneecaps like Kilroy. “No.”

                “Anyone? Brother? Sister?”

                “No.”

                “Do you have any siblings?”

                “Brother.”

                “What happened to him?”

                “Gone.”

                “Gone where?”

                “Army.”

                “Would your family ever seek you out?”

                “No.”

                “You sure?”

                Niall’s eyes, which were usually as clear and innocent as tropical waters were now as heavily armed and defended as war time battlements. “Yeah.”

                The shame of demanding Niall answer these questions was starting to chew on Liam’s guts. He gulped down all the water in his tiny cup and stared at the drops he’d left behind on the lip for a few seconds. “You like boys?”

                “What?”

                “Do you like boys?” The irritation was evident in Liam’s voice and he immediately regretted it. Niall was hugging himself, not like he did when he was cozy and happy, but like he did when he felt vulnerable and exposed. “What does that even mean?”

                When Liam spoke, he intentionally softened his voice tried to use the nicest phrasing he could find, “If it wasn’t for money… would you like boys anyway?”

                “I don’t know,” Niall replied quietly after a beat. “I mean, well… yeah. I – yeah.”

                “You’ve had a boyfriend before?”           

                A small muscle in Niall’s jaw flexed and Liam could tell he was grinding his teeth. “No.”

                “Do you do drugs?”

                “No.”

                “Have you done dr—“

                “I fucking hate drugs and I don’t have anything to do with them, I never have, so you can stop asking about drugs,” Niall snapped, crumpling the plastic cup in his hand and launching it violently at the bin.

                Liam took a deep breath, “Have you ever—“

                “Can I put some clothes on?”

                “What? Oh, sure, yeah… Of course.”

                Since they’d been meeting, Niall had never once asked permission to re-dress himself and Liam watched with ash in his mouth as Niall limped over to his clothes and struggled to pull on his ripped jeans. It was clear that he ache in his backside and the muscle strain he’d just endured was giving him some trouble in accomplishing this simple task so Liam rose to help him.

                “I can do it,” Niall said stiffly, before struggling to get his foot into the actual pant leg instead of sending it through one of the multiple holes. Liam stood back and watched him helplessly until Niall almost toppled against the entertainment center. Liam managed to snag him before he sent the cable box flying and collected him up close to his chest.

                Niall hesitated to touch him, but gradually relented when it became apparent that Liam had no intention of letting him go. He hooked the fingers of one hand into Liam’s collar bone and cupped his strong shoulder with the other, buttressing himself against Liam’s larger frame and forgetting about his jeans for a moment.

                “Can we not do this?” Niall asked in a small voice. “Can you just not ask me this stuff?”

                “No,” Liam coughed out for the dryness in his throat. Niall breathed out two, three, four times before carefully crouching down to give his pants another go. It was easier with Liam helping him and it was Liam who pulled the denim up around Niall’s hips and buttoned his fly. When Niall lifted his tattered scrap of t-shirt, Liam asked him, “You want something better?”

                Niall looked up questioningly, the material draped over his fingers like a cat’s cradle.

                “Here, take this, there’s just… more to it,” Liam said, handing Niall his ribbed, grey undershirt of good make and maintenance. The red hooker shirt fell to the floor as Niall took what was offered him and he pressed the fabric to his nose. “Smells like you.”

                “Of course it does,” Liam smiled at him, making use of his own boxer shorts and watching out of the corner of his eye as Niall slipped the shirt on with a look of wonderment.

                “It’s soft,” Niall said, rubbing the material over his tummy.

                “Looks good on you,” Liam said, taking his hand and leading him over to the bed. Niall curled up in his lap as Liam fussed with getting them well and truly cocooned in the sheets. They stayed there, hidden away in their own little world, breathing each other’s air and trading soft kisses periodically, then startling themselves awake when they dozed. But the startles faded and the night began passing them gently by when Niall eventually whispered:

               “It was my brother’s friend.”

                Niall wasn’t certain whether or not Liam was awake. The man had been still for so long and he’d assumed a deep, relaxed breathing pattern that made Niall bet he was asleep. A sleeping man was the only safe person with whom he could share this history. Well, a sleeping man and Louis. Louis knew, but that was it. And that conversation hadn’t been any easier.

                “It was after we moved to America. My mom – there was something wrong with my mom and the doctors said it would be better for her if we went somewhere that got more sun. So, my dad’s work sent him to Virginia. It was the sunniest place we could get to.” Then he went quiet for a moment. He tucked his feet deeper into the covers and folded his hands together over his heart before he started speaking again. “Anyway, his name was Reggie – my brother’s friend. He was really popular at school, good at sports and all the teachers liked him. Our mum liked him a lot. Don’t know how he came to be friends with my brother because Reggie’s family had money and ours didn’t. He would always make comments about how shitty our house was – I mean, it _was_ —“ He cut himself off. He listened. Liam’s breathing was still even and deep and the hand that was cupping his shoulder was relaxed and heavy. So Niall continued, speaking softly into Liam’s skin, “Me Ma didn’t like me much. I don’t know why. Greg said she went funny after I was born, that she grew a mean streak, but I never knew her any differently. She would scream at us, throw things… Our Da spent all his time trying to keep her from going off – I always made her go off. Just to look at me, she went off. But she liked Reggie. Whenever he was in the house, she behaved. So we all liked having Reggie around, at first. But I never liked the way he looked at me.”

                Niall found the triplicity of moles on Liam’s left breast that he’d always thought were so pretty and started slowly tracing his finger between the three little spots. “I was sixteen the first time he… y’know. I didn’t know what I was doing. He was so much bigger than me and he just kept saying it was good practice. I didn’t know what he meant, it just hurt. It hurt bad and I didn’t tell anyone cause… well, if Reggie went away, mom would freak out. It was the only time she was ever nice to me, when Reggie was around.”

                Niall sighed hard against Liam’s nipple. He’d done so well so far, retelling his story of woe to a sleeping man, but he could feel the layers of internal armor beginning to crack. The hurt was starting to seep out of the vaults he’d kept locked up so tightly for so long. He tried to regulate his breathing and focus on the air as it passed through his nose, just like he did when he was getting fucked by someone he didn’t like.

                “He did the most horrible things, Liam, to me, he did… “ The damn broke and it all came pouring out, Niall’s story and Niall's tears. "He did the worst… He… He would suck on me, Li, and I'd get hard and come… There was nothing I could do, I couldn't help it. He'd laugh at me, he said I liked it. He said I liked all of it. Sometimes, just when he'd fuck me, I'd come, I didn't mean to. He'd see me get hard, and get off on it, he'd grab me, he'd pull on me… Then, Christ, Liam, I'd come. Sometimes, I thought he thought I loved him because of it, but then I knew he liked it 'cause it made me guilty. Every time I came was worse than when he came, and he knew it, he fucking knew it, Li!” The boy’s sobs thudded against Liam’s chest and Liam felt every single one.

Liam wasn’t sleeping. He had crawled his way out of the dreamlands the moment he heard Niall start speaking and having heard the entire story, he couldn’t pretend any longer. His strong arms gathered Niall against him while he tucked his legs up under the smaller lad’s so Liam’s body had him essentially engulfed as the Irishman broke down in sobs and snotty hiccups.

As lamentable as it was, Liam found it encouraging to know that Niall still had the capacity to cry like a child. At least he hadn’t turned himself into the walking dead the way many of the young men on the streets had out of survival instinct. One thing Liam knew for certain was that this little treasure had a heart, even if it was broken in pieces.

                "Shhh," Liam held the boy, feeling as if he were the only thing keeping him in one piece, "You couldn't help it, it's not your fault…"              

"One night I screamed out loud while he was doing it… Didn't mean to, but I fucking did. I swear he fucked me longer and harder because of it."

Liam coddled and coddled him, not knowing what to say because he knew everything that could be said at this point would be useless. There was no comforting someone during a confession like this, there was only holding out with them until the storm passed.  

                “Do I have to go on…? It gets,” a hiccup, “worse.”

                “How could it get worse?”

                Liam meant it rhetorically, but Niall answered him honestly. “He would hold house parties and give me to his friends. He would charge them.” Liam winced and curled up around Niall harder. This was a story Liam didn’t want to hear, but Niall couldn’t seem to stop. “There’d be four of five of them in one night and they’d… just… use me. Use things – with me. And I tried to tell my brother, but he just smacked me and told me I was making it up because I was queer and had a crush on him…”

                “How did you end up here?”

                “I ran away, as far as I could.” Niall’s breath was hitching and he pulled the neck of Liam’s loaned, grey shirt over his face to hide his tears, even though the room was illuminated only by the clear light of the moon. “I didn’t know what to do, so I ran away. I couldn’t—I couldn’t—I could almost stand Reggie, but I couldn’t stand the _sharing_. Being handed around, like a – a…” He made a sound like the static on the radio before pressing the shirt to his face and giving up to grief he clearly hadn’t let himself express in years.

                Liam slowly ran his fingers through Niall’s hair, letting his blunt fingertips gently massage his scalp. It took the better part of an hour for Niall’s sobs to die down and shortly after that, his breathing evened out and his grip on the shirt loosened to where Liam could pull the garment down over his face so Niall could breathe more easily.

                All of this would clear with Harry. Liam could report that Niall had answered all the questions satisfactorily and he would check up on all of Niall’s stories as best he could. In particular, he was determined to find this punk named Reggie. And Liam comforted himself throughout the night with thoughts of what he’d do with him once he found him.


	4. Bismuth Valley

**2001 Christobel Street #519**

**Bismuth Valley, Pipetrial City**

                It was 6:42 am when Zayn finally made it home from his shift. There was a siren going by as he keyed open the door to his apartment building and he mumbled a few soft words of encouragement to his brothers that were still on the clock.

                The building in which he and his wife had been living for the past seven years was once a Styles Estate property but was now little better than the tenements in Chalcedony. The elevator had stopped working three years ago and the super never bothered to fix it, so Zayn had to drag himself up five flights of stairs before he reached #519, on whose door hung a little, wooden sign with “Home Sweet Home” painted in his wife’s handwriting.

                Upon opening the door, Zayn was hit with a waft of stuffy air and he could tell immediately that his wife had gotten takeout last night and hadn’t done the dishes. He just sighed as he dropped his keys in the undusted crystal candy dish on the side table and shrugged out of his heavy leather coat.

                The apartment was in a state of disarray as usual and that disarray charted a very simple map to his wife’s activities last night. There were new cigarette burns on the side of the sofa that had the best view of the TV and the smoke stain on the ceiling was getting bigger. Zayn had lived with a smoker for so long that his nose couldn’t detect the smell of it very well anymore. Once he was in the kitchen, he hurried over to the stove where one of the burners was bright, angry red after having been left on all night. He turned it off, his heart leaping for a moment at the thought of how easily that slight negligence could’ve burned down their entire building. Especially because, as he suspected, there were several open takeout boxes strewn across the kitchen counter; any one of which easily could have caught fire. Zayn took a step back and heard a crunch underfoot. When he looked down to see what he’d stepped on, he’d found a dirty plate broken on the floor. About it, like baby ducklings swarming a dead mother, were five shot glasses, all of them cracked or chipped in some way. There was no explanation as to this configuration, but Zayn knew it all boiled down to the empty Jack Daniels bottle in the sink.

                Taking great pains to not make any noise, Zayn gathered up the pieces of the broken plate and gently put them in the trash. Then he did the same with the takeout boxes, the contents of which looked inedible at this point. The shot glasses clinked as he pinched them together and deposited them in the sink. The sink, where that damn glass bottle sat, not even the smallest drop left in it. It was easy for Zayn to imagine his wife choking its throat, swearing and cursing it for not providing her with more alcohol.

                In a flash of aggravation, Zayn ripped it from the sink and it made a terrible clattering nose as he smashed it into the bin.

                “Baby?”

                The soft call wafted from the bedroom and squeezed Zayn’s heart painfully.

                “Sorry, sweetie,” he whisper/yelled, slipping down the hall and opening the door on the right. She was on the bed, having managed to get out of her pants, but still in the polo her work had assigned her. The blonde lion’s mane lifted off the pillow and Zayn saw that the makeup she hadn’t taken off the night before had dried into black rivers down her cheeks and darkened the sockets of her eyes. But when she saw her husband, she smiled and reached for him.

                “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he apologized again, taking her hand and curling into their unmade, unwashed bed with her. The bitter smell of alcohol and cigarettes still clung to her and Zayn winced internally. She cuddled back into the security of his embrace and made a soft mewl of relief, “I don’t mind, baby. I love every chance I get to see you.” Her soppiness was a clear indicator that she was still drunk.

                “I know. I miss you,” he replied, pressing a sweet kiss into her temple.

                She sniffed and rubbed her hand over her face as if she was aware of the painted mess there. “How were the streets?”

                “Pretty easy tonight,” Zayn lied.

                “Good.” She was quiet for a moment, her hand slowly curling tighter and tighter into the sleeve of his shirt. Then she made a soft bleat and she moaned softly, “Zayn, I’m getting so old.”

                “Shh, shh, shh…”

                “Zayn, I’m falling apart, I can’t, I couldn’t remember our sixth grade English teacher’s name. Do you remember? He was the one that let us eat in his room during lunch. Why isn’t my mind working anymore, Zayn? I’m losing my mind! I’m losing my mind!” She was crying now, cowering against her own thoughts in her husband’s arms, “I swore I’d never forget him, I promised at graduation that I’d never, ever forget him for what he did for us and I forgot, Zayn, I can’t—“

                “Mr. Felton.”

                “Oh, my god!” She hugged her knees to her chest for a moment before releasing them and turning in Zayn’s arms and throwing her arms around his neck. “Mr. Felton. What would he think of us? If he could see us now, living in this nightmare, what would he think of us, now?”

                “Perrie, honey, shhh…”

                “I’m not even 30. I’m not even 30 and my life is in pieces, Zayn.”

                “It’s not like that, baby…”

                “Oh, god, oh, god, Zayn, I’m going crazy and you’re all I have…”

                She bathed his neck in fresh tears and he stroked her hair, feeling that conviction of helplessness that had become the lynch pin of his experience. He stroked her back, scrambling internally for something offer her, seeking anything that would make the woman who had been his high school sweetheart and was now his wife come out of this downward spiral.

                “Have you considered going up and visiting your mother? You always feel better after you—“

                “She hung up on me last night!” Perrie snapped, punctuating it with a phlegmy snort. “I called her last night and she fucking hung up on me! She’s not a fucking mother, she’s a selfish bitch!”

                “I just thought it might help, honey,” Zayn said, petting her, wishing there was a way to navigate this chaos.

                “You’re all I have, Zayn.” Her breath hitched several times and she tucked herself into her husband’s neck, letting out a painful groan before swiftly dropping out of wakefulness again.

                Zayn stared out the bedroom window. The view was of their neighboring building, less than three feet away. It offered little escape from their tiny, claustrophobic bedroom, so Zayn had to use his imagination. Zayn imagined many things. He imagined that his wife was happy with the prosperous singing career she’d always wanted. He imagined that he was capable of saving this city and wiping crime from the streets. He imagined living in a bedroom with floor to ceiling windows with a view to Lake Lillywhite. And that was as far as his imagination got before the exhaustions of the day overwhelmed him.

**4563 St. Paul’s Avenue**

**Mitchem-Purley, Pipetrial City**

                Niall wasn’t sure what an STD test would entail, but he certainly didn’t think it’d be half so awkward as this. He was staring down the barrel of a 40-something Vietnamese woman who was shooting him a look of blunt bewilderment.

                “Fifteen?” she barked, her snappy accent making the word sound like a curse. “You sleep with fifteen men a week? _Different_ men?” She was holding the hospital initial intake paperwork on a clipboard before her where she and Niall were locked together in one of the hospital’s examination rooms.

                “Um. Yes,” Niall squeaked, white knuckling the pleather of the exam table. “That’s an estimate…”

                Niall had been uncomfortable the minute the hospital appeared from between the other massive buildings as they drove in Liam’s car. It occurred to Niall, as Liam maneuvered the car toward the beautifully manicured Mitchem-Purley that he was not taking him to a hospice clinic where the less fortunate were tended by physicians who worked for paltry government grants. Niall had been to those places and they looked nothing like this. This was a proper hospital where people with fancy insurance and fancy jobs to pay for that insurance were tended.

                In Pipetrial’s early days, it could be said that Mitchem-Purley was the first borough to get its shit together. They’d been the first to assemble a Chamber of Commerce and had hired a man who actually had a strong sense of Euclidean geometry to plan the roads. Such early consideration lead to a tidy, attractive enclave in the Upper West Side where people liked to spend their money in fashionable boutiques and potholes had a lifespan of less than two days. In short, it was no place for a hooker.

                Liam had done a fair bit of cajoling to get Niall out of the car. The lad needed to be convinced that no one would take a second glance at his jeans that had slashes in the back just under the pockets to give a glimpse of the crease of his temptingly pert backside. Absolutely no one, so Liam said, would care about how he was dressed.

                Liam was either very ill informed or a liar. The nurses, against their very rigorous training to the contrary, raked their eyes over him helplessly and the other patients willfully succumbed to blatant staring. It made Niall want to shrivel down to a husk, but Dr. Kwak’s gawping at him like a fish was easily the worst of it.

                “You a rent boy?” she asked, her dark eyes boring through him.

                “Yeah,” Niall choked out, wondering why she even had to ask.

                “You use protection?”

                “Yes,” Niall replied more confidently because that was one thing he knew he got right.

                “Even with that nice young man in the lobby? I saw him!” She added that last bit as if anticipating a denial from her patient.

                “Yes! Yes, I always, _always_ use a—“

                “He your boyfriend?”

                “What?”

                Dr. Kwak inhaled sharply before removing her thick, black-framed glasses and leaning forward as if Niall was slow and hard of hearing, “Is he your boyfriend?”

                “No… I don’t think so…”

                “You don’t think so?”

                “No, I—we—Maybe.”

                “I tell you what,” she was wielding those glasses threateningly at him now, “You make that man your boyfriend. And you stop peddling your ass. You hear me? You die in two years otherwise.”

                A flash of hot red panic raced up Niall’s spine and his mind scrambled to determine if she’d somehow diagnosed him with some god awful disease just by sitting here, talking to him. Maybe the glasses had special powers. “What?”

                “Boys on the street live maybe two years in this city. Girls live maybe one. Out there? A meat grinder. I read the reports!” Again, those glasses were waggled at him to prevent any sort of rebuttal. “So you settle down with that young man in the lobby, you get a real job, and you stop treating your body like it’s trash. You understand me?”

                “Yes,” Niall replied, just to stop the diatribe.

                “Good. Now drop your pants.”

**189 Breaker Beach Road**

**Boardwalk, Pipetrial City**

                Niall had asked Liam to drop him off at the Gunther Dime Arcade or the boardwalk because that’s where he knew Louis would be. The black Lexus pulled up in front of the dingy establishment that had been sanded down with salt air and given a fresh coat of paint from the passing seagulls.

                They sat quietly for a few seconds before Niall reached over and took hold of Liam’s hand. The other man reciprocated with a tight grasp and pulled Niall closer to him. They shared a soft, tender kiss before Niall pulled away and studied the brown eyes across from him.

                “You’re not going to tell me what this was all about, are you?” he asked, searching Liam’s face for any kind of tell. But Liam was impenetrable and he stoically shook his head ‘no’.

                “You’re very mysterious, you know,” Niall said, rubbing his thumb over Liam’s. It got a soft laugh out of the other man.

                “Do you know when the tests come back?” Niall asked, knowing he was stalling, trying to suck up as much Liam time as he could. Liam didn’t seem like he had anywhere to be; he just smiled and replied, “In one to two days. I had them expedite it.”

                It made Niall’s heart pound in his chest to think that Liam was in some kind of hurry to get back in bed with him, condomless. It put Niall in a sort of hurry, too.

                “And you’ll call me?”

                “I’ll call you. Got your number, now.”

                “Yeah. Should’ve done that a long time ago.”

                “Yep.”

                “Yep.”

                They gazed at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Niall felt like he was in high school, trying to figure out how first dates were supposed to end. So, he tried, “I guess… I should go, then, huh?”

                “Actually,” Niall hadn’t expected that, “There is one more thing.”

                Niall covered his face with his free hand. “Oh, god. It’s more mystery isn’t it? I’m not sure I can take anymore mystery, Liam!”

                Liam chuckled and gave him a gentle tug to bring him back. “Not terribly mysterious. It’s just… I have to ask you not to… well, have sex with anyone until I get the results back.”

                Niall blinked at him blankly for a second before he scoffed so hard it irritated his sinuses, “Liam, I have to—“

                “Work. I know, you have to work. But I’ll pay you $500 a day for each day you don’t work. Like I said, it’ll only be one or two days before I get the results, but… Until then, I need to make sure you stay… y’know…”

                “Clean,” Niall finished for him.

                “Yeah, clean. Is that ok?”

                Niall looked worried. There was a crease between his dark eyebrows and he kept scraping his teeth against his bottom lip in agitation before he broke out with, “Will you not just tell me what it is?”

                “I can’t,” Liam said with such resolution there was no doubt he couldn’t be shifted. Niall looked at their conjoined hands and winced hard.

                “Liam, this is weird—“

                “It’s $1000 to not work for two days, Niall. Can you afford to pass it up?”

                In reality, he couldn’t. Outside of his work for Liam, he’d never made $500 a night in the entirety of his career. That much money would cover rent for Louis and him for the month and he could even save for the first time in his life; and the best part of course, was that he wouldn’t have to let perverts and scum have free reign of his body for at least two whole days.

                He didn’t have to reply. Liam just shifted in his seat and pulled an envelope from his back pocket and pushed it into Niall’s hand. It was so thick it didn’t even fold properly.

                “Thank you,” Niall said softly, unable to lift his gaze from his left knee.

                “You’re welcome,” Liam replied, watching the boy struggle with his humility and finding it achingly beautiful.

                “I guess I should go.”

                “Sure.”

                “I’ll see you soon.”

                Niall leaned in and gave Liam a brief peck on the lips before disentangling his hand and opening the car door. That was when Liam realized this would be his last kiss with Niall for the rest of their lives.

                “Wait!” he yelped, his whip fast reflexes kicking in to grab Niall’s bicep before he was out of the car. The young Irishman gave him a confused look as he was reeled back and pulled in close. Liam stroked his hand down his face, his expression soft and sentimental before he leaned in and gave Niall the deepest, steamiest kiss the young man had ever received. It made him moan into Liam’s mouth and his fingers went dumb and dropped the envelope onto the floor of the car before curling into Liam’s shirt and pulling him in tighter. Liam had hold of his bottom lip and was sucking on it in a way that made electricity skitter across Niall’s skin. When Liam pulled away and gave Niall his lip back, they stayed locked together, breathing into each other, not letting go. Niall’s heart was a battering ram against his ribs and he just wished to god Liam would say what was so obviously needed saying.

                “Liam, I –“

                “You should probably go.”

                “But, how can you not—“

                “Out, Niall. I’ll see you in a few days.”

                Liam pulled away from him, turning to look out the front window, giving Niall a clear signal that their time was over. It made the younger man frown and he gingerly lifted the envelope full of money from the floor and crawled out of the car, onto the boardwalk.

                He watched Liam’s car drive away until it rounded the corner that took him back inland and with a sigh, Niall turned into the Gunther Dime.

                Some could consider the Gunther Dime poorly named because the arcade games there cost 50 cents a play. However, Bob Gunther, the kindly owner of the establishment, insisted he’d named it so because the rickety old junkyard wouldn’t sell for a full 10 cents. Over half of the games were broken and the ones that still worked had some noticeable defect, such as a crack on the screen, only one side of the control panel worked or that you had to wrestle the thing to the ground to get it to acknowledge you’d given it two quarters. But it was the only arcade that Niall and Louis could get to on foot and it was also the only arcade in town that still had a Donkey Kong game, which Louis was convinced he would shortly be mastering.

                That’s where Niall found him, his lips in a tight line as he concentrated single pointedly on the foggy game screen in front of him. Niall could see the score, laid out in orange 8-bit, and he could tell by the level that Louis wouldn’t be beating any records. He still stood by patiently while Louis hawed and snarled and squeaked at the cabinet. It didn’t take long for Niall’s avidity to get the better of him, though, and during a momentary calm, he yipped, “LOOK OUT!” which made Louis jump and lose his rhythm entirely. Within fifteen seconds, Mario had been plowed with a barrel.

                “Well,” Louis said with an eerie calm, slowly lolling his blue eyes over to Niall, “That’s 50 cents you owe me, sir.”

                “You were gonna lose anyway.”

                “You’re not dead til you’re dead, Horan!” Louis scowled at him. “That’s 50 cents with an extra dollar for pain and suffering!” He held out the flat of his hand and flapped his fingers, clearly expecting remuneration upon receipt. Niall just smirked, pulled out one of the $50 bills Liam had gave him and laid it flat in Louis’ hand.

                “Holy shit,” Louis said, ogling the note, “Seriously? You just giving this to me?”

                “Yeah,” Niall shrugged.

                “Why?”

                Niall pulled Louis close and, using Donkey Kong for cover, opened up the envelope Liam had given him and ran his thumbnail across the bills. With a sharp, “Jesus!” Louis clasped his hands over Niall’s and pushed the envelope down the front of the Irishman’s pants. “Don’t flash that around, are you crazy? Was it Liam? He give that to you?”

                “Yeah…”

                “Why?” Louis eyes, like his voice, were hard and suspicious. Niall licked his lips and rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck as if working out the muscles there. Then he said softly, “Things’ve gotten weird, Louis.”

                Niall related the story and withheld nothing. He told Louis about the sex and while he had to stress that it was, in fact, magnificent sex, Liam had seemed so much clingier than usual. He told Louis about the agonizing question and answer session and how he’d fallen apart in Liam’s arms. Then he expounded on the horrors of the doctor’s office and how he was told the gut-churningly short life expectancy of rent boys in this city. At last, he got to the part where Liam told him to be celibate for two days to ensure his test results would still be current when they arrived.

                When he was done, he looked into Louis’ eyes, hoping to get some sort of confirmation that what his heart was hoping and dreaming this was all about was the correct interpretation. He was severely disappointed.

                “Don’t go with him again.”

                “What?”

                “You heard me, Niall!” Louis left the Donkey Kong cabinet which he tended to jealously guard when he had time to play it, and lead Niall outside onto the back alley, pushing him into the shade of the building. “This is bad news, Niall. Stay away from him.”

                “What the hell, Louis? What’s the matter with you?”

                “What’s the matter with me?” Louis asked, looking a little wilder than usual. “What’s the matter with _you_? You don’t do that, Niall! You don’t tell johns about your life! You don’t _make love_ to them and get attached! And you sure as fuck don’t let them take you to the doctor to get your scrotum scraped!”

                “Why not?” Niall came back with equal agitation. “Louis, this isn’t – You don’t see the way he looks at me! He cares about me, Louis, he really, really does! Why else would he pay what was probably a helluva lot of money to make sure I’m healthy?”

                “So he can _use_ you for something, Niall! _Sell_ you! He’s probably some pimp who finds freelance boys and seduces them so he can add you to his stable and take your money! Or, hell, I don’t know, white slavery is huge in this city! Maybe he wants to sell you to one of those brothels that keep boys locked in dog cages in the basem—“           

                “Shut up, Louis!” Niall snapped, pushing the other boy hard in the chest and advancing on him. “Do you even fucking hear yourself? If he was a slaver, he’d just have fucking kidnapped me! And he’s _not_ a pimp, he’s—“

                “What? He’s in love with you?” Louis sneered at his friend derisively. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? You think this is Pretty Woman and he’s fallen in love with you and he’s going to steal you away from all this and play house with you until you die at a ripe old age, don’t you?”

                Niall’s aggressive energy dwindled immediately at Louis’ assertion because it all sounded so stupid when reflected back at him. The sea air whipped around them and made Niall’s eyes sting and he retreated back against the wall of the Dime.

                “This isn’t the movies,” Louis said, his own eyes clearly having been effected by the stringent wind, “There aren’t any Prince Charmings out here, Niall, I told you that from day one. He’s a pervert who pays money to stick his prick up you. No one’s going to save us. Shit, if anyone was going to save us, it’d be Zayn and fat lot of good he is, honestly.”

                Niall had to smile a little bit because he knew Louis was crazy for the rebellious cop. But Louis wasn’t amused. In fact there was something radiating from him that was fundamentally savage. “Don’t go see him again, Niall. Take that money, but don’t get in his car again. Don’t even talk to him.”

                The wind was stirring them up, now and Niall blinked at Louis through his hair as it was thrashed around in the sea side weather. “But… Louis, what if I’m right? What if this is that one in a million thing where—“

                He was stopped by Louis’ hand in his shirt, pushing him back against the peeling paint of the Dime, pinning him there as the other boy snarled, “Do not see him again! You hear me, Niall? Don’t do it!” There was a frenzy in Louis eyes that Niall had only seen a few times before and Niall realized that Louis was equally as freaked out by Niall being right as he was by Niall being horribly wrong.

                “Ok,” Niall said softly, holding up his hands in surrender. “Ok, Louis, I won’t ever see him again!”

                The caged animal that had been roaring inside of Louis was placated by Niall’s defeat and Louis hauled Niall into his arms, burying his nose in the other boy’s neck. Niall held him in turn, only now aware of how hard Louis was breathing and how fast his heart was racing.

                “I love you, you know,” Louis muttered, his lips on Niall’s ear so he could be heard over the wind.

                “I know,” Niall replied, “I love you, too.”

                They kept hold of each other, Louis curling his fingers into Niall’s grey wife beater. “New shirt,” he commented.

                “Yeah.”

                “Liam’s?”

                “Yeah. Gave it to me.”

                “I like it. It’s cute.”

                “Thanks.”

                “Swear you’ll stay away from him?”

                Niall sighed heavily. “Yeah, I swear.” He swallowed, his eyes shifting across the out to where the ocean was. “But I’m gonna take two days off, anyway.”

                “Definitely. You deserve it. Maybe we can go to the park and get some of that pineapple ice stuff they sell on the—“

                “I fucking _knew_ you two were screwing each other on your days off!”

                Niall and Louis jolted apart and spun to see three elongated shadows crawling up the alley toward them. They belonged to Max, Pete and Garrett, all rent boys who worked on Butcher’s Corner in the Ironworks, a few blocks North of where Niall and Louis staked out every night. Max was the biggest, his broad frame and dark features making him the most intimidating of the bunch. Pete and Garrett were certainly no flimsier, but they hung behind the obvious alpha male, trying to exude an air of menace. They wore styles that were best suited to the 80’s, but they still managed to pull it off.

                “Or do you charge each other and keep it on the clock?” Max followed up, making the other two boys snigger maliciously. Garrett was heard to comment, “If they do, I bet they give each other discounts.” Pete scoffed but Max ignored him.

                “What the hell do you want, Max?” Louis asked, instinctively stepping in front of Niall and standing up much straighter. He was still a little slip of a boy, but his intensity had spooked other comers in the past. Max was unimpressed.

                “Spotted your boyfriend turning tricks in the Brook Street alley last night. That’s Winston’s turf."

                Niall’s stomach flooded immediately with regret and certain knowledge of how this confrontation would conclude. He’d taken Dockworker into Brook alley and had completely forgotten the rumors he’d heard the week before about how Winston had claimed it for his boys under no uncertain terms.

                Winston was a pimp who specialized in peddling boys to fuck and boys to fight and sometimes boys to fight and fuck. Sex and violence was his stock and trade and he raked in money hand over fist, doling out pennies to the boys that actually did the work. Winston boys were easily recognizable: they stood on the streets, their eyes black, their ribs cracked, their lips burst and their humanity bleeding out onto the pavement. He had been slowly expanding his territory, folding corruptible cops into his empire and disenfranchising freelance whores so they had no other option than to come under his employ. Niall had a feeling Louis and he were about to get disenfranchised.

                “Money made on Winston’s turf is Winston’s money,” Max informed them, the boards under his feet creaking as he advanced upon them. “But I’ll tell you what. The pair of you come and work for us and we’ll let you keep the cash. Sound good?”

                “We’re not gonna work for Winston,” Louis hissed, bearing his teeth. “We’re not fucking stupid, we know how he treats his boys.”

                “Louis,” Niall said warily, not liking how Pete and Garrett were moving in to flank them and certainly not liking the way Pete was raking his eyes over the lines and angles of Louis’ body.

                “No,” Louis shrugged Niall off and spat, “Fuck you guys! And fuck Winston, too! We may be whores, but at least we don’t turn on our own!”

                “Well, that’s a shame,” Max patronized them, “Cause we’re still gonna take your money.”

                Garrett moved in, then, and Niall knew he was the target. He was fast enough to nail the heavy with a magnificent elbow to the mouth, but the man was a trained fighter who had been hit a lot by much bigger, meaner men than Niall. He barely even flinched, just geared up and landed a fist on Niall’s eye which made the blonde’s head snap back and send him clattering to the dirt. When his vision cleared, he saw Max lifting Louis off the ground by his shirt before slamming him down into the sandy earth next to him. A wet, broken sound came out of Louis that made Niall’s heart go cold and he lifted himself to scramble toward him, but he felt a strong pair of hands grab hold of his pants and drag him back.

                Louis wasn’t faring much better, except that he was angrier. Max was straddling him, about to land a hammy fist in Louis’ face when the boy brought up a knee and caught Max perfectly in his family jewels. The blow did a number on the swarthy tough and he rolled to the side, curling up and making room for Louis to rise and land a sharp, vicious kick to his kidneys.

                But that was as far as he got. Pete had come at him like a charging rhino, lifted him up and slammed him into the baby-blue painted brick of Gunther Dime. Louis, a gash in his head and completely disoriented, stumbled to the ground. He struggled to rise, knowing he was easy prey for another attack, but he didn’t get himself together before Pete swung a shoe into his gut that made him disgorge what little he’d had for breakfast that morning.

                Max, his face still showing the agony he was in, rose weakly and looked to Garrett, who was holding a struggling Niall as easily as he would an excited puppy. “You find it?”

                There was a large hand in Niall’s back pocket and twist though he did, he couldn’t dislodge it before it came out holding the money he’d gotten from Dockworker and his usual fee from Liam.

                “Jackpot,” Garrett grinned, holding up the wad of cash for his friends’ appreciation. But Max didn’t grin. He just looked over at Pete who was crouching down behind Louis’ prone form, hands crawling up his thighs. “He have anything on him?” Max asked. Those crawling hands went into Louis pockets and found only a couple of singles and a fistful of quarters.

                “Nah,” he said, scattering the pocket change across the alleyway. “Nothing worth taking…” Then he stroked a hand between Louis’ legs and grabbed hungrily. Louis whined and tried to kick him, but it was ineffective. “No money worth taking at least.”

                Niall was trapped in Garrett’s grip, but the urge to scream at Pete to get his filthy hands off his friend was burbling up in his throat. Its expression was thwarted by Max appearing before him and taking firm hold of Niall’s jaw, making him lift his face. “It’s gonna happen, you know. Winston’s gonna own the entire East Side and you and your fiery little friend over there are either going to play along or get snuffed. That pretty boy cop of yours can only do so much. He’s a dying breed. So you might do well to get him to see things our way before something bad happens to him, too.”

                “Eat death, fuckface!”

                He knew he wouldn’t get a good response to his witty retort and sure enough, Max handed him a blow to the stomach that made it feel like it was going to leap out of his mouth. The arms that were holding him disappeared and he was on the ground again, watching helplessly as Garrett walked away with his earnings and Pete, weird fucking Pete, kept molesting his best friend. Louis was thrashing to get free, but he was still struggling to breath from the earlier blows and Pete had him well pinned.

                “You hear that?” Pete’s hot, rank breath fanned across Louis’ face. “You’ll be ours soon and then I’ll get to play with you. Been watching you, you know. I called dibs on you from the start.”

                “Get your fucking hands off me, I swear to Christ, I’ll tear them off and beat you wi—“ But his tirade was cut short by Pete licking a stripe up his cheek and curling his hips into Louis’ butt.

                “Maybe I won’t wait for Winston,” Pete taunted still. “Maybe some day when that dune coon cop of yours has his back turned, I’ll throw you down and drill you like I’m—HEY!!” His litany of verbal abuse was cut short by a still-limping Max kicking him in the ribs.

                “You see how much money that little twink had on him? He’s been workin’ so hard, you could probably park a semi up his ass and have room to move. Pete! Get off him, c’mon!” That was Garrett.

“C’mon, let’s go…” That was Max.

                The three thugs laughed and joked as they turned back into the heart of the city, counting the money that wasn’t rightfully theirs and leaving behind two broken and battered boys to bleed on the boardwalk. Louis was the first to move, half-crawling, half-dragging himself to where Niall was still trying to remember how to breathe properly after having his guts kicked in.

                “You ok?” Louis croaked, reaching out and stroking a hand down Niall’s arm.

                “Seen better days,” Niall said mildly.

                “At least you didn’t throw up. That was pretty embarrassing.”

                “They hit really hard. I think I’d feel better if I threw up.”

                “You wouldn’t. Trust me.”

                Niall tried to smile for him but the result was pretty pathetic, so he gave up and squeezed Louis’ hand instead. He was met with a return squeeze and Louis asked carefully, “Did he find the envelope?” The bruise on Niall’s left eye was beginning to swell and reduce his visibility, but he was able to wink at Louis with his right eye as he pat the front of his pants where Louis had stuffed the money earlier.

                “Nope.”

                “Thank god it wasn’t Pete searching you, he would’ve found it.”

                “Sick fuck. I’ll kill him if he comes close to you again.”

                “Eh,” Louis shrugged, “Not worse than any of my clients.”

                It was a quiet day on the beach front of Pipetrial City. There were a few cart vendors and a smattering of patrons passing by, but no one saw the two boys, crumpled and hidden as they were.

                “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” Louis said softly.

                “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t’ve done anything.”

                “I could’ve. I could’ve protected you better. I –“

                “There were three of them, Louis. And all of them were twice our size.”

                Louis was stroking his arm again, too far away to embrace him and too weak to crawl any closer. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Niall, that’s all, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the thought of anything hurting you, I’m so sorry.” There were tears slipping down his bruised but still beautiful face and Niall took it upon himself to haul his mass closer to his friend and pull him into his arms. “It’s ok. I’m ok,” he said reassuringly. “We still have some money, we’ll be ok. Ok?”

                Louis nodded and clung to him, his face smashed into Niall’s shoulder. “Can we rest here a bit? I don’t feel good enough to move.”

                “Yeah. We can give it a minute.”

                Grateful that they were out of the thoroughfare and the sun, the boys stared out at the grey mist that promised of the ocean that lie beyond and sank into their separate thoughts.

Louis was thinking of Zayn – wondering if he could help them, wondering if they could help him. The corruption was notoriously spreading in the police department and it was evident that even Zayn had been affected by it; after all, he was protecting two young prostitutes instead of taking them in and cleaning up the street. But Zayn had a weird moral fiber of his own design that Louis couldn’t help but respect. He just didn’t know what would happen when that fiber was faced with an entire city turning against him.

                Niall was thinking of Louis. As he held the other boy, he was plagued with feelings of grief, of premature loss, of fear, because he had lied to his best friend in the world. Even as he was swearing to Louis to never see Liam again, Niall knew it wasn’t true. He knew there wasn’t a team of wild horses alive that could pull Niall away from seeing that man the second he called. Surely he owed it to himself and to Louis to find a way out of this life. Dr. Kwak had told him rent boys lived maybe two years on the street. After today, that estimate felt perversely optimistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. 8227 57th Street

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                “I think I know why everyone’s so fascinated with the apocalypse.”

                “What?” Liam looked up from where he was reading a glossy magazine on the sofa in Harry’s office. The man himself was staring out his floor to ceiling windows, his bare toes curling into the carpet as he ruminated.

                “Haven’t you noticed?” Harry asked. “Look.” He pointed out the window to the huge billboard atop one of the towers several blocks away. It was for an upcoming blockbuster that cost more money than the majority of Pipetrial City would ever see in their lives and the theme of the thing was an epidemic had crawled its way across the world, leaving no one to propagate the human race except for five implausibly attractive people. Harry sneered at the billboard while he was figuring out how to work seeing it into his schedule.

                “Miranda Otero is hot,” Liam muttered, recognizing the full-lipped actress smoldering down at a city she’d never stepped foot in.

                “Yeah, but haven’t you noticed? It’s everywhere. Three video games came out in the past two months, all about end of the world stuff. And they made a new zombie movie that’s coming out in a couple of weeks.”

                “Ok,” Liam said, folding the glossy mag in his hands and chucking it onto the coffee table. “So, what, you think because the economy is shit, everyone’s fearing the end of the world?”

                “No,” Harry replied, taking his hand off the glass and leaving a smudge that his top rate cleaning crew would be sure to take care of before tomorrow’s dawn, “I think everyone’s hoping for it.”

                Liam worked his jaw. Harry’s mood had been steadily declining for the past few months and it was no wonder: no 20-something male should ever have to go as long as Harry had without sex, or, as in Harry’s case, without being touched at all. Liam knew from firsthand experience that Harry’s days consisted of rigorous grooming to make him a suitable heir for his father’s company, from the morning business tutors, to shadowing the Vice President and CEOs in the evening, during none of which did Harry even get so much as a handshake.

                Then, worst of all was the evening, when Harry would stand at his window, like he was now, watching a bristling, lively city beneath him, while he was mewed up in his tower. Not that he couldn’t leave. Harry was welcome to come and go as he pleased. But Harry had been just as burned by Pipetrial as the people who lived 14 stories below him.

                “That’s grim, Harry,” Liam sighed in response, knowing this conversation was only going to skew more and more towards the morbid.

                “No,” Harry replied firmly, “It doesn’t have to be. Think about it. If everything was wiped out. Everything. Including other people.”

                Liam thought about it, but he didn’t really get a sense of what Harry found so enticing.

                “See?” Harry said, imagining he saw understanding on Liam’s face that wasn’t there. “Don’t you just relax?”

                In fact, Liam was feeling the opposite. The entire conversation had him on edge.

                “Think of what it’d be like to _know_ that no one’s watching you. No one’s going to poke their head in your room and ask you why you fucked something up. No one’s going to tell you that you can’t sit there, you can’t say that, that parking space isn’t for you, you can only have this if you sign here, if you’re late we’ll leave without you, if you didn’t claim it we won’t reimburse you for it, you can only rest for ten minutes, you have to pay for the upgrade and oh, you’re not exactly what I was hoping you’d be! I mean… Look at this shit.” He gestured out the window. “Would you really cry if all of that crumbled overnight?”

                Liam had risen during the tirade and was standing over Harry’s shoulder, feeling like maybe a hand on the man’s arm would calm him. Up close, however, he could feel Harry’s barbs. So he thought better of it and did as instructed: he looked out the window.

                Pipetrial city was ugly, sure enough. The buildings were made for cheap efficiency, and the ones that had been made to show off money were beautiful only in the eyes of people who did things like build buildings to show off their money. The air was grey from the exhaust of too many people trying to pay their bills with taxi services and the homeless littered the streets like discarded napkins. But it was the city Liam grew up in. He could see the hospital he was born in from here and he could see the bridge that led to where his dad used to have an autoshop. He knew if he went downstairs and out the front doors he’d be three short blocks from the One-Eyed Gypsy where Lisa manned the bar and always called him ‘sweetie’, no matter how shitty a mood he was in.

                “Yeah,” Liam replied. “I’d cry a little bit.”

                Harry spun to look at him, his green eyes narrowed in incredulity. Then he snorted and said, “You are the softest fucking bodyguard ever. What do I pay you for?”

                “I keep you human,” Liam smirked at him, an expression that took at least ten years off him and never failed to make Harry grin. “You keep my _secrets_ ,” Harry emphasized, but he was interrupted by his phone going off. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, eyeing the picture flashing on his screen. “Speaking of crying…”

                “Tamara?” Liam surmised, walking back to the sofa and his magazine. Tamara was Harry’s older sister, a mother, a wife and the only thing keeping the mail-order wine industry afloat.

                “You know what she started doing? Ever since I chewed her out for only calling me when she’s having a breakdown, she’s started calling me and telling me about all the times she’s had breakdowns and _didn’t_ call me, but she starts talking about it and has another breakdown.”

                It wasn’t supposed to be funny, but Liam was laughing anyway as Harry answered the phone. “Tamara, I don’t really have time right now,” Harry lied. “Uh-huh…” Tamara was much more of a talker than a listener and Harry just droned dutifully again, “Uh-huh…”

                Liam went back to the sofa, picked up his magazine and found an article on how to refurbish a vintage Indian motorcycle. He felt his heart sigh longingly at the well-lit picture of the cherry red machine that was clearly taken in a suburb somewhere. His mind immediately started spinning into the simple fantasy of that being his bike that he could cruise around town on when he heard a ‘ttst!’ He looked up and saw that Harry had tucked the phone under his chin so he could still hear the auctioneer-fast patter of his sister’s voice, but his wouldn’t carry to the microphone. Liam frowned at him questioningly.

                “Did you fuck him again?” Harry asked, his voice at half volume. The question immediately brought up memories that Liam had been endeavoring to keep in the dark and it made him scowl at Harry and waggle his hand at his own ear as if to say ‘not now, you’re on the phone.’

                Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s just bitching about – yeah,” he said, bringing up the phone up to his mouth again suddenly, “No, it isn’t fair, they’re you’re kids. I’d tell him to fuck himself, too.” Apparently, he had responded correctly to his sister’s complaint and he turned his attention back to Liam. “You did, didn’t you?”

                Liam wanted to tell him it wasn’t any of his business, but of course it was; it was all Harry’s business. It was Harry’s money that had bought Niall for him, Harry’s money that had paid for the hotel and the meals, Harry’s money that covered the doctor’s visit and Harry’s money that was keeping Niall out of other men’s beds. Well, Harry’s father’s money, but that would be changing soon when Harry took over the company.

                It seemed that Liam’s silence was telling enough. “Of course you did.”

                There was a pause in which Liam was praying Harry had been distracted by what sounded like a problem with the private school Tamara’s children were attending, but his hopes were dashed when Harry asked, “You tell him it was your last time?”

                There was a hint of venom there.

                “No,” Liam said simply, keeping his eyes on the vintage Indian.

                “Why not?”

                “He was asking too many questions already.”

                Harry sat down behind his desk and even though he settled the phone against his face as if he had reengaged with his sister, his eyes were distant and calculating. He found a paperclip atop the glass surface and started scratching at the leather binding of one of the portfolios on his desk while his sister chatted so loudly Liam could make out every other word. Then the woman on the other end said something that brought Harry back and Liam relaxed as the room was filled with talk of tuition and expectations of leniency for students from such a well-respected family.

                The magazine had just gotten around to elucidating on the importance of finding the right muffler, which had Liam on the edge of his seat, when he heard another sharp, “Tsst!” Harry’s thoughts had wandered again and Liam looked up to see that wherever those thoughts had taken him, they’d made his face far softer than it had been before.

                “Do you think he’ll like me?”

                The question hadn’t even occurred to Liam, much to his shame. His job had been solely to determine if Niall was someone Harry might like, not to consider whether Harry might be someone Niall might like.

                “Yeah,” Liam blurted, before the pause got to be incurably long. “Of course.”

                Harry gave it a moment’s thought before swinging his feet up on the desk and echoing brashly, “Yeah. Of course.”

~*~

                Tamara’s story wasn’t as simple and honest as she would lead you to believe it was if she were to tell you about it herself. It all began when she was a child and she learned that if there was one thing her parents couldn’t stand, it was a tantrum.

                At the age of six, Tamara “Don’t You Fucking Call Me Tammy” Styles was attending the company party held by her father in celebration of achieving an incredible property deal in Spain. (“You know why Alexander the Great failed when he tried to take over the world, kids?” Elliot Styles had asked both of his children when they were both at the threshold of puberty. Pre-pubescent as they were, the Styles children had no idea why Alexander the Great had failed to take over the world. Luckily, their wise father had the answer, “Because he tried to do it with swords instead of money.”) Tamara was wearing the frilly powder blue dress her father had gotten her for Christmas and she had felt very grown-up and pretty the entire evening. Elliot had been showing her around, carrying her in his big strong arm and introducing her to all the funny speaking, heavily mustached friends who Tamara learned from her parents’ behavior were very important. She made a particular point to be at her most impressive.

                Things had been going awfully swimmingly and Tamara was feeling every bit the belle of the ball until the bane of her well-being appeared, his dress shirt untucked from his pants, both of his shoes untied and his loose bowtie flopping ignobly about his neck. Little brothers were the archetypal curse of older sisters, but Tamara was convinced her lot was worse than any other girl’s in the world, because Harry had come barreling through the impressive banquet hall, the lid on his juice cup very unstable, and had crashed directly into his older sister, grape juice washing her from lacy blue hair clip to suede blue shoes.

                At six, Tamara had the presence of mind to know that she had two options: A) she could be dignified, she could turn up her nose at her little brother, disregard him as the nuisance he was and let the party admire her maturity and tact; or B) she could pitch a tantrum so remarkable, the Spaniards would return to their home country, eager to tell the tale of the kind of shit storm American children were capable of. Tamara chose the latter.

                The resulting three and a half minutes were excruciating for all present, but foremost for Mr. and Mrs. Elliot Styles. They were accustomed to the nicest things, the finest, gentlest, subtlest, quietest things and Tamara was demonstrating the utter antithesis to all those qualities. Mrs. Styles’ immediate reaction was to take her daughter’s hand and insist repeatedly, “We’ll get you a new one, honey, we’ll get you a new dress! We’ll get you three new, pretty dresses!”

                Aware now that bartering was taking place, Tamara doubled down and wailed more loudly, resulting in her mother further upping the ante, “That dollhouse you wanted, love? We’ll get you that dollhouse, I promise, just please, stop crying!”

                Elliot’s mind was somewhat better equipped for thinking through emergencies than was his wife’s, and he responded by snapping his fingers in front of the face of a bewildered maid and snarling softly, “Get her out of here.” The maid did as she was told, but not before Mrs. Styles had promised her daughter five new dresses, a brand new dollhouse, a pony for Christmas, severe punishment for her brother and the next week off of private school. That was the moment when it was solidified in Tamara’s developing mind that hysteria paid off.

                Hysteria and it’s more subtle twin, the constant insistence that everything was out of sorts, had since become Tamara’s lifelong companions. When faced with opposition, uncertainty, doubt, confusion or a decision more difficult than deciding what color her new manicure should be, Tamara would tilt-a-whirl into histrionics until someone came along to make everything alright again. If no third party was available, she would call her little brother, Harry.

                The gifts and cossetting and bribes were not so forthcoming now for Tamara as they were when she was six, but her mind had yet to recognize this. It was as if her ability to perceive the world had become a closed circuit since she turned 12 and it had been running on the same suppositions ever since. What had been a tool to get her way in childhood had now become a deeply ingrained habit of discontent, worry and a deep belief in her own victimization.

                One tiny little incident so long ago in a room full of Spaniards should not, reasonably, have had such a profound effect on a child so many years later. Tamara, however, wasn’t the only one to carry scars from that day. While she had, in fact, been the center of all the unpleasantness, having opted for the far more disruptive reaction to have to her little brother, it was actually Harry that bore the brunt of the incident. While his sister was getting showered with dresses and dolls and school-free days, Harry had been scolded, dragged from the room by his curls and bludgeoned repeatedly with the notion that he was a shame and disgrace to the Styles legacy. This brutal belief was carved as deeply on Harry’s psyche as Tamara’s had been carved into hers, the only difference being that Harry was looking for every opportunity to disprove it – fate, however, had defined a pretty solid pattern of proving it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~Come find me!~*~ I'd love to see you!
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	6. 3917 Ferber Avenue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come see me at the end notes! We'll talk!

**3917 Ferber Avenue**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                Niall’s eye opened when the reverberation of the never-timely 7pm bus rattled the floor of his tiny closet he called an apartment. He and Louis had managed to stumble back to their bare, dirty mattress and catch a few hours of mugging-necessitated sleep, wrought for both boys with visions of what worse could befall them if they lost their territory.

                “Hey,” Louis grumbled when he heard Niall whine awake behind him. Sleep had dulled the pain of the burst blood vessels, fractured ribs and swollen eye; upon waking, all his wounds were remembered.

                “How long you been up?” Niall asked groggily.

                “Half an hour. Can’t breathe right.”

                Niall risked prodding the eye he couldn’t open and winced at the answering pain. For the first time since he and Louis had paired up, they weren’t cuddling due to their injuries. He winced at that, too. To remedy it, he reached out and pressed his fingertips lightly against Louis’ shoulder. Luckily, that part seemed to be unscathed and Louis just sighed.

                “What time is it?” Niall asked.

                With a soft mewl of discomfort, Louis reached for the battery operated clock with the glow in the dark hands and squinted at it. “8:30. At night, I’m assuming.”

                “Zayn will be on the beat, soon.”

                “Good. Then he can service our regulars.”

                Niall snorted, but the action caused all the damage in his face and ribs to protest and he yelped, “Ow!” which made Louis start laughing, which caused the same response from his battered body and another “Ow!” cut through the air. That was how they both fell into a giggle loop that would’ve lasted much longer if it weren’t so painful.

                “You should go out and see him,” Niall said, wheezing once he got his breath back, “He’ll turn the city upside-down to find us if we’re not where we always are.”

                “He likes us.”

                “Yeah. So go tell him we’re good.”

                Louis didn’t move immediately, which Niall assumed was simply because moving after you’d had the living shit kicked out of you took some serious mental fortification before putting into action, but the time stretched out beyond what was usually allotted for psychosomatic synchronicity and Niall prodded him again, “Louis.”               

                “Ow.”

                “Go.”

                “Kuughhh—“ It was the sound a person makes when they’re about to offer a rebuttal, but halfway through the first consonant, realizes it isn’t really worth it.

                “What?”

                “I don’t want to.”

                “Why not?”

                “… y’know…”

                Niall didn’t know.

                “No. Why not?” One of the veins in Niall’s swollen eye socket throbbed fiercely and as Niall grimaced, he became aware of what a heinous mess he must look. Which was very illuminating for him.

                “Oh,” he said to Louis, “You don’t want him to see your pretty face all busted up.”

                Louis frowned. “No. I don’t want him to know I _lost_.”

                “There were three of them, Louis. They were all twice our size.” Niall had a feeling he was going to be repeating that phrase a lot.

There was a rustling sound in which Niall knew Louis was hugging himself tighter. “And you’re still really pretty.” He kissed Louis’ exposed shoulder to seal his point. But still, Louis didn’t move. He just held his pale, broken form and breathed as shallowly as possible.

                “Ok,” Niall said quietly. “But then I’m gonna go tell him, ok? I don’t want him to worry.”

                “He’s gonna worry when he sees your face.”

                That much was true. It was too dark in the room to know how badly his vision was impaired, but the swelling he’d felt about his eye socket led him to believe he looked roughly something like the Elephant Man.

                “I’ll tell him I fell down some stairs. And we’re just not in the mood tonight.”

                “Which I’m sure he hears enough from his wife.”

                “Now you’re just being a dick, Louis.”

                Zayn’s face when he did see Niall reflected the exact shade of worry the boys had expected of him. And Niall got a pretty good view of it because it turned out the swelling wasn’t as incapacitating as he thought it would be. He hadn’t seen the wound, yet, but in the light of under-funded city streetlamps, he was feeling confident that Joseph Merrick wouldn’t be particularly impressed.

                “Who did that? Why’re you limping?” Everyone who’d lived a day on the street would be able to pinpoint Zayn as an undercover cop. It wasn’t just that he looked like he ate at least once every day or that he was generally on the clean side, but it was also that when he approached people, as he was approaching Niall right now, he did so in a straight-forward, confident manner of someone who knew he had the upper most hand – and was probably carrying a firearm.

                After overcoming his fascination with Zayn’s impressive stride, Niall intended to answer, but he was cut off by two strong hands taking hold of his face, opening up his eyes to get a look at his pupils.

                “I’m fine! Stop, stop, stop! Gah!”

                He batted the hands away from his face, but they were quickly lifting up his shirt to survey the damage there.

                “What happened?”

                “Just – Stoppit! Zayn, you grab me again, I’m gonna start charging you!” The boys had learned early on that any sort of intimation that Zayn was interested in them professionally generally got him to back off post haste. Zayn took his hands back from where he’d been yanking on Niall’s clothes, which gave Niall the space to say, “We just got in a scuffle with some kids. We’ll be fine, we’re just taking the night off.”

                “What kids?” Zayn barked, not taking this as casually as Niall’s attitude was suggesting he should. “Louis was hurt, too?”

                Niall was wishing he’d tried the ‘fell down some stairs’ lie. They were getting looks from passersby and people in the apartments above them were closing their windows, no doubt expecting this to turn into a full blown domestic dispute.

                “Louis’ fine,” Niall said, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. “He’s just resting up. We’re gonna take some nights off, though, that’s all, and we didn’t want you to worry about us.”

                “Of course I’m worried about you!” Zayn took hold of his face again, far more gently this time, and angled him about to see how extensive the damage was. “You don’t look concussed. Why won’t you tell me who did this?”

                “Because we don’t even know. Just some kids in Alexander park.”

                Niall was a horrible liar. Louis had tried to teach him, among many other things, how to lie convincingly, but the Irishman’s guilelessness won out every time. Zayn’s shoulders deflated in disappointment.

                “I’m here to protect you boys, Niall. Why won’t you let me?”

                It would’ve been very easy for Niall to remind Zayn that a cop with a conscience in a town of corruption was in need of protecting too, but that just would’ve agitated the man further. So, Niall extracted himself from Zayn’s hands again and shrugged, “Cause this is a rough city, Zayn. You can’t protect us from everything all the time. Some stuff you gotta just let go.”

                Zayn winced as if Niall had just prodded him right in a bruise of personal failure. The expression only exaggerated what Niall hadn’t noticed before which was that the swarthy cop didn’t look in much better condition than Niall. His usually silky black hair was greasy and hung limply into his gold eyes, which now looked dulled to brown and accented with heavy shadows. His usually flushed and healthy skin was pale and gray and remaining upright looked like it took a disproportionate amount of Zayn’s concentration.

                “You ok?” Niall asked, stepping in to get a better look even though Zayn was ducking away from his glance.

                “You’re asking me?” Zayn scoffed.

                “You look like hell.”

                All it got him was a quick shake of the head as Zayn brushed him off and turned to scan the rest of the street. The late night food vendors were out as well as some high school kids who fancied themselves rebellious for being in this part of town after dark. The underbelly had yet to expose itself. Really, Niall with his damaged face, unseasonably thin, tight T-shirt and pants that hung low enough to show off the angle of his bruised hips and the swell of his ass was the most scandalous thing out, yet.

                What was more scandalous was what he asked. “How’s the wife?”

                Surmising the cause of disease in Zayn’s life would’ve been a simple task for anyone who knew him. As punishing as working on the side of the law in Pipetrial City was, there was nothing worse than watching the woman you loved fall apart. He stood there a minute, letting the smell of greasy hotdogs and garbage that had sat too long in the sun wash over him while he considered not answering at all. Instead, a sound slipped out: “Rough.”

                It was always difficult to get Zayn to talk about his homelife. Usually the best one could hope for would be: “Things’re tough right now. But it’ll be alright.” Occasionally, he leaked a few droplets of information, such as his mother-in-law’s repeated invitation to the both of them to come and live with her in the suburban steel town about 70 miles outside of Pipetrial City. She had insisted that Pipetrial City was no place to raise a family and that her daughter needed to be able to hike and commune with nature in order to heal what she referred to as Perrie’s ‘self-medicating.’

                “You try to get her up to her mom’s?” Niall asked, knowing he was prying a bit deeper than was usually allowed.

                “She won’t go,” Zayn suddenly and with urgency started fumbling about in his pockets for a cigarette. “Accused me of trying to get rid of her so I could have an affair.” That clarified things for Niall. As he watched Zayn try to light his cigarette with a subtly shaking hand, he realized that the particular brand of “looking like hell” that Zayn was wearing was more specifically a “spent most of last night yelling, then slept on an uncomfortable sofa” scent. Niall had seen this on a great number of clients.

                “Maybe you should.”

                “What?”

                “Maybe you should have an affair.”

                “Niall, what the hell are you – oh.” Zayn clued in to what was going on when Niall started to grin cheekily.

“I hear they’re really good for you.”

                “I thought you weren’t working tonight,” Zayn said, offering him the lit cigarette and exhaling through his nose.

                “I’m not,” Niall shrugged, taking the proffered carcinogen, “But Louis’d punch back in for you in a heartbeat.”

                Zayn had the grace to look surprised in one instant and bashful the next. “You need to work on your patter, kid.” Niall took a long drag off the cigarette and shrugged, almost apologetic for bringing up such a tender topic, but he didn’t let it drop. “He really likes you.”

                “Gimme that back,” Zayn said, ignoring him and swiping the cigarette from Niall’s hand. Niall relinquished it, but pried, “You care about him, right?”

                “Fuck’s sake, Niall.”

                “Just – I mean, not like that… necessarily… I mean, you just _do_ —“

                “Obviously, Niall, I care about the both of you.”

                “But Louis especially.”

                “Niall,” Zayn turned to him, locking eyes with him in that direct, definitely-a-cop way and huffed, “What the hell do you want me to say?” But Niall wasn’t shrugging or being cheeky anymore. He was standing there, looking vulnerable and a little scared and like he needed that cigarette more than Zayn did right now.

                “What? What’s wrong?” Zayn asked, his voice deeper in his sudden concern.

                Niall took a big breath to speak, but when it came time for those words to come out, he dropped his head and delivered them to his shoes, “You’d look after him, right?” He stole a glance at the other man from under the fringe of his badly-dyed blonde hair, “If I went anywhere, you’d look after him, wouldn’t you?”

                “Where are you going, Niall?” Zayn’s poor heart couldn’t take much more of this. Hardship seemed to come in swarms and after what had happened with his wife last night, the difficulties at work, and seeing Niall’s sweet face mangled, news that the blonde may be disappearing from his life fell with such a weight that all he wanted to do was go home and sleep for the next several years.

                “Nowhere… I just need to know if… hypothetically—“

                “Bullshit, Niall, where are you going?”

                “Nowhere!” A beat. “Yet.”

                “What do you mean, ‘yet’?”

                “I mean, nothing’s going to happen, probably!”

                “Niall!” Zayn grabbed his friend by the elbow, probably a little too hard. “What the fuck is going on? Tell me what you’re talking about!”

                Niall’s already luminous eyes shone brighter with alarm when he was cornered. “I talked to a doctor today, Zayn. She said, statistically, I’ll be dead in two years if I stay out here. I believe her.” Zayn’s grip loosened on Niall’s arm somewhat, but he didn’t set Niall free. In fact, he pulled him a little closer.

                “Where are you going to go, Niall?” he asked.

                “I don’t know, but if the chance comes to get out of here, I have to take it, right?” This didn’t feel to Zayn as hypothetical as Niall was making it out to be.

                “You’d leave him?”

                “He’d have you.”

                “I’m not you, Niall!” Zayn growled, giving Niall a curt shake, “He needs _you_. You think he’d be clean without you? You think he’d _stay_ clean without you?”

                The anguish caused by Niall’s quandary was evident on his face and Zayn would feel guilty about badgering the boy if it wasn’t that he was certain Niall’s departure would be Louis’ end. Niall just hung limply in his hand like a lost child and Zayn relented somewhat. The bruising grip on Niall’s elbow became a grounding, friendly hand and both men stood silently, trying to gather their thoughts. Niall’s thoughts weren’t properly gathered yet, but he spoke anyway. “It… Nothing will happen. I’m sure nothing will happen.”

                Zayn hadn’t done much better for thought gathering when he replied with, “You two are beautiful together.”

                It was Niall’s turn to look mildly surprised and some color came back into Zayn’s pale cheeks. “I mean,” he tried to justify it, “Everyone must tell you that.”

                “Well, yeah,” Niall smiled quickly and easily, “But I never expected to hear it from you…”

                “This block just wouldn’t be the same if you two split up.”

                “You like us,” Niall echoed Louis’ earlier claim, all pleased, gawky boyishness. It took Zayn off guard and all he could do was snort defensively, but Niall didn’t let up. “You think we’re cute, and you think we’re fun, and you wanna cuddle us like puppies!” It was that last part that had Zayn laughing out loud. He took hold of Niall’s head and pulled him into his neck for a big, manly hug that Niall wiggled into happily.

                “Yeah,” Zayn surrendered, “Yeah, you’re cute and fun and cuddly. And I’ll cut anyone who hurts you.” Their chuckles died down after a few moments and the intensity of their hug faded. Then Niall pulled back and, arms still looped around Zayn’s middle, looked him dead in the eye and said, “Come upstairs. Let us take care of you. Just for one night.”

                There was a moment in which Niall thought he might actually have him, but Zayn reared out of Niall’s arms like a horse that didn’t want to put its bridle on. Then he readjusted the collar of his coat and gave the street a quick scan.

                “You boys take the night off. Rest up.” He turned his back on Niall, who he could tell was ready to protest that, for him, it would be no inconvenience, so he cut him off again, “I’ll see you later, yeah? Take care of Louis.”

                The disappointment was evident on Niall’s face, but he let it drop and nodded. “Night, Zayn.” He smiled when he heard the answering farewell and turned to go back to the apartment, where he planned to wake Louis up by blowing a zerbit on his shoulder, making him drink some water, and then telling him how Zayn had called him ‘beautiful’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Nice to see you again!
> 
> So, I've been wanting to do a Larry one-shot for a while now and I'm looking for prompts! I'd love to hear your thoughts! To have yours considered, send them to me on Twitter or Facebook! My info is as follows:
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> I'll be posting update schedules to my social networking sites, along with sneak peeks, and upcoming story notices :) I look forward to seeing you there!


	7. Alexander Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nights get rougher, and then everything changes

**Alexander Park**

**Chalcedony Circle**

                ‘Can I pick you up tonight at 8?’ the chunky text on Niall’s phone asked him. It arrived while Louis and Niall were luxuriating under a tree in Alexander Park, which wasn’t so much a park as it was a triangle of earth right next to the on ramp for the highway that was swiftly advancing out of its fertile years. But there was still a tree for two young hustlers to puddle under during the few remaining hours of their self-granted vacation.

                “Whoizzit?” Louis asked, his mouth mashed against Niall’s stomach, where he’d draped himself. Niall knew it was from Liam, because very few people had his cell phone number and none of those who did would be asking to pick him up at 8.      

                “Um. Hank. I think he’s flirting,” Niall said, hoping that Louis would buy it. Hank was a hooker past his prime who liked to frequent the late night diner in their neighborhood and who would buy them breakfasts when he had a particularly lucrative night. He was known to text the boys in fits of uncontrollable horniness.

                “Don’t break his heart, loverboy,” Louis grinned, nuzzling under Niall’s shirt to lick his tummy. The soft wet of it made Niall giggle and squirm, but it didn’t distract him from tapping out a reply text.

                ‘Yeah. Can you wait around the corner for me until the coast is clear? I promised Louis I wouldn’t see you again.’

                “So,” Louis said, his soft breath ghosting over Niall’s navel. “Did you hear what they fished out of the Hailor today? Or should I say who?”

                The Hailor was the river that defined Pipetrial city’s western border. Years of pollution from the steel mills in the Northern part of the state as well as general misuse by various Pipetrial City industries had rendered the water unrecognizable as the same stuff civilized folks used to drink and wash their children in. It was thick and murky and tended to swallow evidence as effectively as fire. However, this morning it had disgorged a secret.

                “One of us?” Niall asked, knowing the answer.

                “You remember that iffy boy Madame Ovary just started fawning over?”

                “Kenny?”

                “That was his name! Kenny!”

                “They fished him out of the Hailor?”

                “Yeah,” Louis said, pressing himself deeper under Niall’s shirt. “Signs of torture.”

                Niall swallowed. Kenny hadn’t even made it two years.

                There was a buzz as Niall’s phone went off again. The screen said, ‘???’. With a sigh, Niall started texting. To Liam, he said, ‘I’ll tell you later. 8 tonight.’ To Louis he said, “How’s Madame O?”

                “In hysterics. Rumor is she’s chain-popping valium.”

                “Zayn going to be a problem tonight?”

                “You know how he gets.”

                Zayn could be a little unreasonable. Several months ago, there had been a rash of murders throughout the city, the victims all prostitutes. Even though they had all been women, Zayn had tried to put them on lockdown until the perpetrator was caught. It had gotten so bad that Zayn had threatened to throw them in jail if they didn’t swear to stay in their tent.

                “Well, we have to work tonight, whether he likes it or not,” Niall said regretfully, twining his fingers in the shock of brown locks at his midriff. Louis grunted in half-hearted agreement and inhaled sharply as he changed the subject, “Y’know, I had a dream the other night—“

                “Yeah?”

                “—about you and me. We were in, like… somewhere near Old Town or something, were there was a lot of color. Like, the houses were all a warm, peachy pink. And we had one, we had a peachy pink house with white carpet and Maxfield Parrish paintings on the walls. And there were three whole bedrooms and one was really big and that was ours. And we had one of those beds that had, like, scrolls at the top and bottom---“

                “Sleigh beds.”

                “Yeah, we had a big sleigh bed. And it was warm. And dry. And it was just us.”

                “No one else? In the two other bedrooms?”

                “No. Just us.”

                “No pets?”

                “Just us.”

                Niall curled his fingers against Louis’ scalp and gave him a little massage. “When did you dream that?”

                “I don’t know – Tuesday?”

                “Hmm…” The sun was shifting and what was once shade under a tree was now becoming night. “You were wide awake, weren’t you?”

                There was a subtle note of apology and loss when Louis replied, “Halfsies.”

**Corner of Kirkham Boulevard and 22nd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                The atmosphere on the street was always different after news like the news about Kenny. Oddly, the tension that was always present had lifted, since it was acknowledged that even the scum was respectful enough to be peaceful for a night. The street vendors didn’t hassle anyone who didn’t have correct change and none of the hookers had the spirit to catcall customers. While it offered a rare sense of community, it made for a slow night. And the night was made even slower by Zayn hovering around the boys like a vigilant mama bear.

                The sum of this was that at 8 o’clock Louis was still hoping for his first bite. Niall was intentionally hanging back a bit, not wanting to attract attention and luckily, his skittish behavior was simply interpreted as Kenny-inspired fear. It wasn’t until 8:45 that a blue Volvo sidled up to the sidewalk and Louis flitted to make a sale. Zayn was conspicuously noting the car’s license plate and marking it down in a notebook, even as Niall did the same on his arm. It took only a second before Louis turned back to give Niall a quick nod and then ducked into the blue car and disappeared.

                With Louis out of his zone of surveillance, Zayn turned to Niall, who was huddled back against the building and said, “You know, if you want to stay in tonight and take the night off, I won’t tell Louis. I mean with what happened—“

                “Actually, Zayn, I… I’m meeting someone. I should go.”

                “Who?”

                Niall shook his head, “Just… A regular.” He lifted himself off the wall and buried himself in his hoodie, hoping Zayn would leave him alone and not question him further, but he had no such luck, especially with Zayn in full-blown cop mode as he was.

                “Which regular, Niall?” There was a hand on Niall’s shoulder, heavy and not about to be ignored, even though Niall tried to shove it off.

                “Lemme alone, Zayn, it’s just a regular, you don’t have to worry.”

                The hand’s firm grip suddenly became an anchor and Niall’s foot kicked out from under him when all of his weight was kept rooted in place. In all his quiet stoicism, it was easy to forget how bloody strong Zayn was.

                “Niall. You tell me or you stay put.”

                The obdurate streak that could possibly be attributed to his Irishness arose in Niall in that moment and he crossed his arms and scowled, refusing to look at Zayn or speak a word. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so damn adorable. But adorable or not, Zayn was not willing to let one of his darlings walk off into the dark with a predator on the loose.

                The clock ticked on, but it was a ridiculous standoff because Niall staying in one easily observable spot was exactly what Zayn wanted and Niall’s growing excitement about his upcoming encounter was swiftly overwhelming his pride.

                “It’s Liam,” Niall muttered.

                “What?”

                “It’s Liam. I’m seeing Liam!”

                “It isn’t Thursday.”

                “I know, but… I promised I’d meet him at 8, but I’m late.”

                “Why didn’t he just come pick you up?”

                Niall risked a glance at Zayn’s honest brown eyes and looked away again. “Because I don’t want Louis to know.”

                “Why? Why don’t you want Louis to know?”

                Niall went quiet again and stared at the pavement. Zayn’s mind turned its gears as quickly as it could and it lit on something plausible, “Is this about—Niall, is this about what you said a few days ago? About you leav—“

                Before he could finish the sentence, Niall took off like a rabbit, so fast even Zayn couldn’t react in time. Ratty white Supras that his father had gotten him his sophomore year in high school thudded against the pavement and rounded the corner. He could hear the jangle of the handcuffs Zayn kept hidden under his coat as the cop raced after him and damn if Zayn’s legs weren’t too long for Niall to compete with. The hood of his jacket was snagged so hard and fast Niall choked a little bit on his collar. Then Zayn corralled him up against the wall, where they both panted at each other for a few seconds.

                “What’s going on, Niall?” Zayn’s face wasn’t so much angry as it was betrayed. “Tell me you weren’t going to just fucking sneak away in the night. Tell me you weren’t going to slip out like some lowlife, cheating—“

                “No!” Niall took hold of Zayn’s shirt, partly to get his footing and partly to ground the both of them. “No, Zayn, I swear I wasn’t, I just—“

                “Is this it? Is this what you were talking about, your way out? Running off with a stranger who pays to fuck you? That’s your solution to this?”

                “It isn’t like that—“

                “Then what’s it like, Niall?” Zayn released Niall’s hood and the boy spent several seconds righting it as he considered how to respond.

                “He’s different, he’s not like everyone else, he cares about me—“

                “Oh, Jesus, Niall, don’t be an idiot…”

                “Why does everyone say that?” Niall backed away from the wall, the corners of his mouth heavy and his shoulders curling around his heart protectively. “Why does everyone insist that there’s nothing out there but people—Why doesn’t anyone--?” Niall was never much of a talker and his own frustration at expressing what he intended to say was making it more difficult. “Why can’t someone actually be _good_? I want to think that someone out there is actually good, Zayn! Why can’t we believe – or trust – why can’t we trust for just a second that maybe there’s someone that is _nice_? That can care about someone else? I mean… Sure, I’m sure I’m a stupid kid. I’m sure you and Louis are right and this is… is stupid, but… Why can’t I pretend that maybe someone loves me? Even if it is just make-believe?”

                Watching him, Zayn realized that maybe that was what made Niall so otherworldly beautiful: That he could actually believe something like that, feel that way, even after everything he’d seen.

                “Because it will get you hurt,” Zayn said simply.

                Niall shifted his weight and stared at his feet. “I have to try. Even if it gets me killed, Zayn, I have to try.” Then, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he turned and started trudging down the street, his heart in his throat. He could feel Zayn shadowing him, could even feel the man struggling to find the right words to get Niall to stay. They were within a few feet of Liam’s car when Zayn reached out again, not demanding or insistent, just a shy pinch on his forearm.

                “You—You have to talk to Louis. I’m not letting you disappear.”

                “I will,” Niall said, turning to face him. “I promise, whatever happens today, I’ll talk to him. Even if it is just to say goodbye.” His voice fell into a whisper as he said those final words, unaware of their gravity until they were spilling from his lips.

                “Come back soon,” Zayn persisted, “As soon as you can.”

                “Of course,” Niall nodded, then smiled when Zayn ran a hand through his blonde locks and gave it a gentle tug.

~*~

                Liam hadn’t noticed the boy he was waiting for until he was a few steps away from his car, since he was in a pretty heated text conversation with an anxious Harry. What was more intriguing, however, was that Niall arrived not alone, but with a tall, broad-shouldered, dark, pouty-lipped man who seemed to have escaped from the pages of GQ. Instinctively, Liam disliked him. He disliked him even more when he saw the way the man ran his fingers through Niall’s hair and elicited a sweet, bashful smile from the tender Irish lad.

                He almost got out of the car and asserted himself when the GQ model regretfully surrendered his hold on Niall’s hair and slunk away. Niall stood a moment, seemingly either in contemplation or gathering himself, then he lit up and ran to the car, jiggling the passenger side door handle, to let Liam know it was locked. Liam swiftly hit the button to pop it open and felt the car rock when Niall flung his weight onto the seat, alight and cheerful.

                “Hi!” He chirped, leaning over to meet Liam in a kiss that never came. Niall frowned at him with his still-proffered lips, which Liam forced himself to look away from. “Who was that?”

                “Huh?” Niall sat back. “Oh! Him! Zayn. That’s Zayn.”

                “So, who is he?”

                “Oh, um. He’s like my bodyguard, I guess.” Niall attempted to shrug it off, his interest being more directed at what was transpiring between him and Liam rather than what had passed between him and Zayn. He leaned in, tilting his head, still intent on having that kiss, but instead offered a perfect perspective on his still-healing shiner.

                “Not a very good one, apparently,” Liam scowled, taking hold of Niall’s face and knocking on the interior light of the car to get an even better view of it.

                “He was off the clock,” Niall said, wincing with the light striking him straight in the eye.

                “A good bodyguard is never off the clock,” Liam said, startling himself with the truth of his wording. Niall smiled at him, relaxing into his hands and putting a hand on Liam’s thigh. “I wish you were never off me…” He made a third attempt at a kiss and when Liam let go of him and turned away, Niall sat back as if he’d been slapped.

                “What? What’s wrong?”

                Liam started the car and said dully, “Nothing.”

                “Tell me. Why won’t you kiss me?” There slight pause after Niall asked the question, but it was long enough for Niall’s troubled mind to calculate the most likely cause of Liam’s coldness: “My test results were bad.”

                “What?” Liam spared him a glance from where he was checking the road for passing traffic. As the Lexus pulled out, Niall swallowed and clarified, “My test results. I have something, don’t I?”

                “No!” Liam reassured him. “No, your test results are fine. You’re all clear.”

                The good news melted the shard of panic that had risen in Niall and he dropped his head forward onto the dash in relief. “Oh, thank god! For a second there, I thought it was AIDS.”

                “No,” Liam had to smile at the beautiful boy who was only looking more beautiful to him now that he could never touch him again. “No AIDS. No nothing.”

                “Phew!” Niall was giggling in relief, now. “You scared me!” He settled back into his seat, gazing at Liam happily, dreamily and reached over to play with the seam of Liam’s leather jacket. “So we can… y’know…”

                Liam stopped his car at the red light and looked over at him. A saint would’ve melted with those eyes on him and Liam sat transfixed as Niall’s mouth softened and moved toward him with the clear intent of folding into his. The pillowy softness of Niall’s lips was a hair’s breadth away from Liam’s when the man’s logical mind started screaming again and he jerked away.

                “Niall,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

                The glittering, radiant gaiety that perpetually haloed Niall dissolved immediately at the rejection. His displeasure was just as palpable as his delight and Liam felt the car get colder.

                “What? Liam? What’s wrong?”

                Liam stared at the road as he kept driving, the frown lines deepening in his face. Niall’s heart was pounding in his chest and it didn’t get any better when Liam said carefully, “We need to talk.”

                “About what?”

                “I’ll tell you when we get to the hotel.”

                “Tell me now,” Niall insisted, his mind’s eye showing him all the scenarios Louis had warned him of. The street lamps stroked over their car as they drove closer to the hotel which felt abstract and far away right now.

                “Don’t panic,” Liam said, reaching out for Niall’s hand when he noticed Niall looked a little shocky. “It’s actually… I have a really good… Look, it’s something really good, it’s not anything to worry about.”

                “Then why don’t you look happy about it?”

                “Because… Because I--” Liam shook his head and choked down his confession. “It’s good for you, honey. Just trust me.”

                Niall’s smaller, pale hand closed around Liam’s brawny one and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “Liam, I don’t know what’s going on, but I have to tell you that I—“

                “Don’t Niall.”

                “Please just let me say it.”

                “No. Not now. Just. Look, Niall, we’ll talk when we get to the hotel, ok?”

                Niall did not feel that this was ‘ok’. But he remained quiet and kept a tight grip on Liam’s hand as the trashed out gutters and iron barred windows of Chalcedony melted away into the manicured lawns and marble planters of Emery Hill.

                Once in the room, Niall sat on the bed and watched as Liam took off his coat, ran his fingers through his hair a few times, then grabbed the chair from the small office desk and put it in front of Niall. When he sat in it their knees touched and the small bit of contact comforted them both.

                “Um,” Liam started, taking hold of Niall’s hands and stroking his thumbs over the boy’s knuckles. He wanted to start out with an apology, but he reminded himself that there was no reason Niall should be unhappy with him – he was getting the deal of the century after all, the brass ring all street whores reached for, so an apology would be ludicrous. Looking into those lost blue eyes, Liam realized an explanation was more appropriate.

                “I told you I was a bodyguard.” Niall nodded. “But I didn’t tell you who I was a bodyguard for. I work for the Styles Corporation but my princip—the guy I’m specifically assigned to protect is Harry Styles.” Liam studied Niall’s eyes to see if there was even the tiniest spark of recognition. There was none. “Do you know who that is?”

                Niall frowned and put his mind to it. It sounded familiar, like a name he should be embarrassed that he couldn’t put a face to. “I know who the Styleses are. I just don’t—“

                “He’s the son.”

                “Oh!” There it was, the dots connecting in Niall’s brain. “He’s the kid who got kidnapped, like, ten years ago! It was all over the news!”

                Liam nodded. “That was before I was his bodyguard. But,” he rubbed his brow and took a deep breath, “The point is, Harry can’t—Harry can’t have normal relationships. Because of who he is, because of _how_ he is, he and his family are very protective of who’s allowed to get close to him. Especially because he’s gay.”

                Niall had a bead on this Styles character now, and he recalled a couple magazine covers he’d seen in gas stations. “I thought he was, like, a womanizing socialite.”

                “It’s… It’s all a front. You’ll see, they have to be very protective of what the media knows. He likes boys and he needs one he can trust.”

                Liam could tell by the confusion on Niall’s face that the beauty wasn’t coming to any conclusions as to what this all meant. He was hoping Niall would put the pieces together so he wouldn’t have to say it, but it wasn’t looking like he was going to be so lucky.

                “Harry… feels that the only way he could be comfortable and safe in a… in a sexual relationship is if his partner was someone in his employ.”

                Niall slowly extracted his hands from Liam and pushed them under his thighs, a crease of concentration on his brow. “So he should get a rent boy.”

                “Yeah,” Liam nodded, folding his empty hands into each other, “The thing is, Harry can’t just go out onto the street and pick someone up. Anyone who would talk to the press, who would damage the family reputation, is a liability. Understand? So, he sent… he sent some of his closest friends to go out and… get a couple of recommendations and find someone for him.” Niall was still staring at him with that gormless, helpless expression. “Niall… I was… I am one of those friends, who went out to find someone… For Harry.”

                The light dawned in Niall’s mind. His eyes got a little wider and he slowly lifted a hand, his index finger pointing at himself questioningly. Liam nodded.

                “Oh,” Niall said in a small voice. “Oh.” Niall could feel all that hope he’d been gathering start to flicker and fade inside him. “I… Liam, that’s… that’s what I do. I’m a whore, I mean, it’s not that big a deal if your friend wants to fuck me…” Niall was scrambling to make sense of all this. He wasn’t certain exactly what Liam was trying to convey, but it was becoming much clearer that it wasn’t Liam’s intent to spirit him away to some clean, comfortable paradise where they would make love all day.

                “This is different, Niall. This is very, very different. I’m offering you a job and I want you to say yes, alright? You’d be a live-in companion. You’d stay in his house, he’d feed you, you’d have a place to live, you’d have medical care and a salary. You wouldn’t be on the street anymore. This is… Niall, this would be incredible for you!” Liam had practiced this. He’d not only gone over the words in his head, but he’d said them out loud, to train some salesmanship cheerfulness into his voice. He had assumed the lad’s sensitive, somewhat needy spirit was going to be confused, wary, maybe even disappointed. The look on his face confirmed this. So, Liam took the boy’s hand again, trying to get him to lift his gaze from where it was fixed on the arm of Liam’s chair. “Niall, you’d be safe. You’d have a future. You’d be so well taken care of, Niall, I can’t tell you all the things he’d be able to do for you, anything you wanted—“

                “You don’t love me.”

                Liam choked off and fell absolutely silent. Niall was tense, breathing shallowly and clearly waiting for Liam to say something. But there was nothing Liam could think of to say.

                When Niall looked up, tears were welling in his red rimmed eyes and he snorted to keep his nose from running. “You don’t, do you? This entire time, you were… You were fucking me for someone else.”

                Liam hadn’t expected that. The obvious course of action was that Niall would be a little startled by the news, certainly, but then he was supposed to be ecstatic and grateful and excited to leap into a new life of luxury and indulgence. For Niall to remain fixated on the relationship that had been developing with the man who was little more than bait was an outside contingency.

                “Did you tell him what we did together?” Niall broke the silence, his bottom lip starting to tremble at the thought. “You did, didn’t you? You told him what it was like to fuck me. You probably… Oh, _God_ , you told him… You told him about me, didn’t you? You told him about… Reggie, you told him everything I told you about Reggie, didn’t you?” Niall took his hand back again and used it to cradle his head. “Oh, Jesus, I thought you were different, I thought you saw me as something different. I thought we were… I thought you were going to…”

                When Liam reached out to take hold of Niall’s wrist, the boy ducked away and bit out stiffly, “Don’t touch me. Jesus, Louis was right, you _are_ a pimp. Christ,” he pulled the neck of his t-shirt up over his face and hugged his head to hide the pain on his face, “I’m so stupid, god, I’m so fucking stupid…”

                “You’re not, Niall, you’re not…” Liam reached for him again, but Niall was off the bed and steadying himself on the dresser, his head bowed and one arm tucked protectively across his chest.

                “Were you laughing at me the whole time?”

                “No.”

                Niall sniffed hard and dragged a hand across his nose. He was struggling to compose himself, wanting so badly to be professional if nothing else.

                “You must think I’m so pathetic.”

                “No,” Liam said again, carefully stalking over to the boy as if he was a bird he was trying to net. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, I think I’m… I think I’m a jerk for not being honest with you.”

                With his body so attuned to Liam as it was, Niall was fully aware of the man coming toward him and his system relaxed at the thought of having him near. Two large hands braced him at the biceps and the contact squeezed an abrupt, unexpected sob out of him.

                “I thought you were going to be the man that loved me,” Niall said, his voice, steady and unbiased, almost as if he was laughing at his own foolish behavior. The grip on his arms tightened and he felt Liam bow his forehead against his shoulder.

                “I’m sorry,” Liam said, barely a whisper, but no less sincere for it. “This will be better for you. More security than I could have—“

                “Yeah, but it’s not love, is it?” Niall said casually.

                “No,” Liam said, feeling dumb, mean, and cornered. “No, it isn’t.”

                Niall shook Liam off him and in an attempt to bolster himself, he started speaking brashly. “No, it’s just more rolling over, taking it up the ass and then pretending to be grateful when someone stuffs a wad of sweaty cash in my hand. It’s just another emotionally dysfunctional pervert who couldn’t maintain a real relationship if he tried, taking his sexual frustration out on my body -- but it’s ok because he has a drawer to put me away in – I may be an object, but at least I’m an object with a _drawer_. No, you’re right, that’s definitely better!” During his tirade, which didn’t play with the arrogance and self-reliance he was hoping it would, he traveled to the end of the bed and dropped down with his back to Liam.

                Silence rang out in the hotel room, loud and unbroken.

                Then Liam asked, “Is that a ‘no’, then?”

                “Delaware.”

                Liam was momentarily stupefied by that response. “What?”

                “When I was thinking about… you know, the two of us… In my mind, I saw us running away to Delaware. I don’t know why – because it’s close, probably. And I always thought maybe the housing was cheap there. Is housing cheap in Delaware?”

                “Well… I think relatively, but—“

                “Maybe I just thought it would be cheap because of how much people make fun of it.” Niall dragged his forearm across his runny nose and shook his head, “I mean, I didn’t really think it through. I think I thought I’d be happy anywhere as long as I was with you.”

                Liam stood uselessly as he watched the young man’s ribs jerk as he tried to suppress the tears. Liam wasn’t prone to crying, and he couldn’t honestly say he understood it. It wasn’t that he was heartless or unfeeling at all; simply, crying was agony and he didn’t know how anyone could allow themselves to suffer it.

Again, Niall lifted his shirt up over his face as makeshift privacy and it spurred Liam to action. He knelt down on the floor between Niall’s feet, wishing he could touch him, but knowing it wouldn’t be well received. “I’m sorry I misled you. I had to be secretive, you’ve got to understand. The Styles family -- They’re the most powerful family in Pipetrial, probably even the country. I couldn’t be honest with you.” This didn’t seem to be helping; Niall was still hiding from him and making phlegmy, choking sounds. “Niall. You’ll find someone who will love you – properly. Shit, anyone would love you.”

“Don’t patronize me,” a gooey, muffled voice came from inside the shirt.

                “I’m not, I -- I never meant to hurt you, honey. You were never a joke, you were never a game and I don’t think you’re pathetic.” Liam stroked his hand over the shock of hair that was poofed up out of Niall’s shirt, “Forget about me. Be happy. Please, please be happy. Please say you’ll accept—“

                “Dammit, Liam, I’m in love with _you_!” Niall snapped, tearing the shirt off his face and glaring at Liam accusatorily.

                “Niall!” Liam clamped his large hand over Niall’s mouth again which seemed to be the only effective way of dealing with him sometimes. He clasped onto Liam’s wrist and tried to resist, but Liam was too strong and Niall was too exhausted.

Liam’s breathing was heavy and thick. He didn’t know why. He swallowed and did his best to catch his breath before saying as stoically as possible, “I know. I know you’re in love with me and I’m so, so sorry I can’t…” That path was dangerous. He tried another route, well-worn though it was. “I want you to be happy. And I want you to be healthy. And Harry… Harry can provide for you. Harry will get you off the street. You’ll want for nothing, Niall, you’ll be fed and housed and _safe_.” He took his hand from Niall’s mouth and gently stroked his thumb under the purple bruise around Niall’s eye.

                The wound was throbbing anyway from all the crying, but the gentle reminder brought a bit of clarity to Niall’s wrenching thoughts. He hiccupped and sniffled for a few moments, then carefully nuzzled his face into Liam’s hand.

                “I want _you_ ,” he murmured softly, into the flesh of Liam’s thumb. His voice belied his resignation, even though a fresh, salt tear trickled down his face. Liam gave him a sad smile that hinted at everything Niall wanted to hear but knew he never would.

                “Will you be able to pull yourself together?”

                Niall looked up at him questioningly, “Yeah… Why?”

                “Harry wants to come meet you.”

                “He’s coming here?” Niall lifted his head, alarmed that things were moving so fast.

                “Yeah. When I text him.”

                Niall snorted again, then rubbed his nose on his sleeve anyway. “Can I have a bit more time with you?”

                Liam sighed and looked over at the clock. Harry was probably going out of his mind in anticipation and Liam was sure if he checked his phone, there would be a flurry of increasingly impatient texts.

“Five minutes. No more.”

                They sat in silence for the first thirty seconds of those five minutes and in that silence, Niall shyly took hold of Liam’s hand again. Then he said softly, “Will you be there?”

                “Yeah. I live on the estate. We’ll see each other.”

                It was a relief for both of them to hear it out loud.

                “Will he be good to me?”

                That was a harder question.

                “He won’t hurt you. He isn’t into anything kinky. He can be pretty demanding and cranky on occasion, but he’s… he’s a good kid.” That last part came out a bit weakly. If Niall noticed, he only showed it in a brief fluttering of his lashes.               

                “Is his house nice?”

                “Nicest I’ve ever been in.”

                “Does he have any pets?”

                “Well, there’s me.”

                That made Niall smile and for the first time since they got to the hotel room, Liam felt that everything might be ok. Then Niall asked, “Will you kiss me one last time?”

                Liam let out a groan like a popped balloon. “No, Niall, that’s not a good idea.”

                “I won’t tell him,” Niall said, urgently. “I swear, I’ll never tell him.”

                “It isn’t about that, Niall, I can’t let you think that there can ever be anything between us.”

                “I know this is goodbye.”

                Liam’s brown eyes locked into beautiful diamond blue and he could see by the sadness there that Niall really did understand. Shame at his own cowardice welled up in Liam in a way that was momentarily unbearable and he dropped his head and stuttered stupidly, “You know that I… Niall, you have to know that I—I mean, you know, don’t you?” When he looked up again, Niall had a sad smile that was crumbling at the edges and he nodded.

                “Good,” Liam whispered softly, before leaning in and tenderly taking Niall’s lips in his own. The boy sighed, a blissful, heavenly sound and kissed him back, slowly and sweetly, savoring the feel of the mouth of the man he loved. When Niall’s hands came up to cradle Liam’s head, Liam’s hands curled into Niall’s jeans at the hips and pulled him closer. They were flush against each other, Niall’s pelvis against Liam’s torso, who was still kneeling on the floor. Liam, getting dizzy at the feeling of his lip between Niall’s teeth, was acutely aware of the heat between Niall’s thighs that seemed to be burning a hole through his core. Niall was panting softly into his mouth and their kiss was getting more fervent. Liam’s body had been conditioned to these kisses, knowing exactly what they led to and when the desire got too intense, Liam ducked his head and broke the kiss. Niall closed his eyes and said nothing.

                The remaining fifteen seconds wound down with Liam’s head bent and Niall with his lips at Liam’s temple.

                “I have to text him, now,” Liam said.

                “Can I take a shower?” Niall’s voice was small and dull. “I haven’t had a proper one since we were last here.”

                “Yeah,” Liam rose and readjusted his jacket before going over to the duffle he’d brought in with them. “I brought some clothes for you. They’re clean. Some of Harry’s that he never wears.” Niall nodded and rose, his body still clumsy from the disappointment and he accepted the clothing Liam handed him.

                Once he was gone, Liam ran a hand down his face and wondered if that could’ve gone any worse. Of course, Niall could’ve stormed out or flat out refused what Liam had to offer -- that would’ve been worse. Maybe.

                After pinching the bridge of his nose until the throbbing behind his eyes faded, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and punched in a text to Harry: “You can come get him,” then he warned, “He has a shiner,” because he knew how Harry could be. Then he crashed back on the bed, arms spread wide, feet flopping off the end and just groaned until his lungs were empty. It made him feel a little better, but what he truly wanted was some confirmation that the introduction of his boss to the boy he thought the world of would go swimmingly. The scenario was slightly reminiscent of when he brought a girl home to meet his father.

                He heard the shower go on and recalled his first night with that angelic little creature whose heart he just broke. He remembered how suspicious Niall had been, how defensive and distant until after they’d been in the bath long enough for Niall to realize that all Liam wanted at that point was just to get him clean. Liam’s fingertips could still remember the first time they’d stroked over the crease of Niall’s hip and even thinking about it made them tingle.

                There was the sound of a key in the lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come meet me on the social medias! I like to gossip and talk shop and be ridiculous!
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: Harry meets Niall! Niall meets Harry! How do you think that's gonna go over?
> 
> Also -- what was all that stuff Niall was going to say that got cut off??


	8. They Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S MORE!
> 
> I'm also working on a Larry one-shot which should be coming out shortly, so keep eyes peeled for that :D
> 
> In all truth, this is probably one of my favorite chapters I've ever written. I hope you enjoy the hell out of it.

Pipetrial City was enormous only in population, but not size, so it only took Harry about fifteen minutes to arrive and Niall was still in the shower.  Liam learned early on that Niall took remarkably long showers, and rightly assumed that it had something to do with his not having regular access to them, and therefore luxuriated lengthily in them whenever he got the chance.

                When Harry came through the door, he had the same look in his eye that he’d had when Elna Styles had brought home a little, floppy German Shepherd puppy.  Liam could see his hands curling already with the desire to grab.  He was impeccably dressed, and even though Harry Styles was always impeccably dressed, Liam noticed what he’d picked out did a little more to compliment his green eyes and broad shoulders.  He was beautiful and showing off.

                “Where is he?” Harry asked, foregoing greetings.  Nick Grimshaw, Harry’s second bodyguard and a man of impressive build with a wild shock of red hair, swaggered into the room behind him, surveying it out of professional habit.

                “He’s in the shower,” Liam replied. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

                Harry huffed, momentarily agitated, but he immediately got over it and gracefully sat himself in the chair Liam had vacated beside the bed.  “Is he excited?”  Grimmy looked sharply over at Liam, curious to see his friend’s stoicism tested.  It only made Liam more determined to not show anything of how he felt and he casually pushed his hands in his pockets and replied, “I think he’s a little startled; doesn’t really know what to think.”

                The water stopped running in the bathroom, and despite themselves, the trio of men perked up.

                “I gave him some of your old clothes,” Liam confessed before the boy made his appearance in them.  Harry looked up at Liam with an expression that clearly conveyed that he thought it was a strange thing to do.  Liam just shrugged and defended himself, “His clothes are always filthy.  I know how you are about clothes.”  Harry’s eyebrows lifted a little as if he was going to be upset, then he just rolled his eyes and let it go.  Liam could feel Grimshaw trying to catch his attention out of the corner of his eye, but Liam wasn’t in the mood for any of his typical sauciness.

                On the other side of the door, Niall investigated what he was given to wear.  He could tell, even from just fondling the fabric, that what he was holding would’ve originally cost him as much as two months’ rent.  It was a pale blue, ribbed, long sleeved shirt made of something so fine, the tag on it only read ‘dry clean only’.  It fell over his battered body like a caress and it made him want to hug himself – particularly when the sleeves fell a good inch past his fingertips.  He bunched up the extra material in his fists and pressed it into his nose, inhaling deeply.  The aroma was like nothing he’d ever smelled, a scent so clean he imagined it was washed by angels in the rivers of heaven.

                He heard, then, the sharp clacks of consonants in the other room and knew that other people had arrived.  Using the soft material covering his hands, he rubbed his lips and considered just staying in the bathroom until everyone got frustrated and left.  Or sneaking out the window. But running on a loop in his head, was his own voice saying to Zayn only a few days ago, “If the chance comes to get out of here, I have to take it, right?”  So, he bent, unminding of the ache in his body or the fact that he had no underwear and pulled on the pants, the cost of which could’ve fed him and Louis for four months.

                As he padded out into the main room, the pant legs which were too long started slipping underneath his heels and he wobbled slightly when one of the thick seams got him in the tender sole of his foot.  It was an indecorous entrance made worse by the fact that everyone was acutely focused on him.  ‘Everyone’ now included two men Niall had never met before.  One was dressed all in black, like Liam, a man of intimidating stature, with a poof of hair that would certainly give one pause.  The other was clearly Harry Styles.

                Niall hadn’t paid much attention to the kidnapping trial, because he was only nine at the time it had happened and he was far more interested in watching cartoons than the news.  Still, he did recall seeing the photographs of the young victim on the cover of every magazine and newspaper and the brown curls and green eyes managed to hold a place in his memory.  This was definitely that boy grown up, and a very remarkable man was he.  This remarkable and incredible creature, who was now smirking at him and rising to his lanky, impressive height, had a face that Niall couldn’t exactly pigeonhole.  Was he pretty? Handsome? Cute? Beautiful? Charismatic with a hint of funny‑looking?  Either way, he definitely looked like someone who could get quality sex without having to pay for it. Whatever damage the man had, it must have be extensive.

                “That’s fucking adorable,” Harry said, in a rich, leisurely drawl, and Niall swiftly came out of his contemplations and realized Harry was talking about the way he was swimming in his hand-me-downs. If Niall felt self-conscious now, he felt even moreso when Harry came to him with long, confident strides and took hold of him with strong hands, first rolling up Niall’s sleeves and tucking the extra material inside to make a comely cuff, then kneeling down before him and doing the same to each pant leg. He had an awkward moment of almost falling over when Harry made him lift his feet and he had nothing to reach onto for support other than Harry’s shoulder.  He touched him with his fingertips, just long enough to regain his balance, but it still felt inappropriate.  Niall looked to Liam for assurance that this was normal and Liam just gave him a supportive smile before he disappeared behind the broad shoulders and designer jacket of Harry Styles.

                “I’m Harry.”  There was a powerful hand in front of Niall now. Niall risked a glance at the man who owned it before taking hold of it.  It was much bigger than Niall’s, far stronger and smoother and the grip left no question as to who was in charge, here.  “That’s Nick Grimshaw,” Harry gestured over his shoulder at the man who had made himself comfortable on the desk. Nick gave Niall a little nod, which Niall returned.  Then, that commanding hand abandoned his and found its way to his face, where Harry pressed the pad of his thumb against Niall’s cheekbone, just under his bruised eye.

                “How’d you get this?”

                Niall flinched from the unfamiliar hand on his face, but Harry either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Niall’s discomfort.  It was strange how having a gruesome and painful black eye made everyone want to touch it.

                “Turf wars,” Niall answered honestly, his first words to his new employer.  Harry’s eyes raked over him and without warning, he lifted up Niall’s shirt, in search of further damage.  Niall made an aborted gesture as if to grab the material back and cover himself, but instead he clenched his hands at his sides and reminded himself that he was a whore and access to his body was public.

                The bruises on his torso were pretty ugly and Harry frowned at the spoilage of his new property.  “We’ll get this looked at.  Sit down.”  Niall resumed his seat on the bed and Harry took up the chair again and leaned forward on his knees into Niall’s personal space.

                “Liam only ever had nice things to say about you,” Harry started.  Niall’s eyes were on his hands, which were slowly undoing Harry’s work and curling themselves up in the extra material of the sleeves.  “He says you’re a magnificent fuck.” Niall still wouldn’t look at him.  He made no reply whatsoever and just kept twisting the soft material gently in his fists.  Then that strong hand was on his face again, Harry’s thumb tenderly stroking across his lips.  Niall stopped fussing and when he looked up, he found that Harry had gotten very, very close, indeed.  “So, what do you say?” Harry’s voice was like molasses, heavy and decadent. “Will you be mine?”

                Niall struggled to find his breath for a moment.  He ducked away from Harry’s hand and asked the bedspread, “What do I get out of it?” 

                Grimmy actually gave a sharp bark of laughter.  Harry, unfazed, kept his eyes locked on the boy, not giving him any relief from that canny gaze.  “A new life, for one,” Harry started out, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his knee.  “But you want details.”

                Niall nodded, chewing slightly on his lip.  It would certainly help this nebulous plan come into a firmer focus, and now he was feeling utterly disoriented.  Harry sighed and, hooking his elbow over the chair back, laid it out for him, “You’d have a position as an indentured companion—“

                “—your whore,” Niall interrupted.

                “Yes, my whore,” Harry replied, ignoring the way Liam and Grimshaw shifted uncomfortably at Niall’s impertinence.  “And you’ll live on my estate. But you’ll have your own room, which is to remain unlocked at all times, and you’ll have all of the common areas available to you.  Your days will be your own since I’ll mostly only need you at night, but you won’t be allowed to leave the property without a chaperone or go anywhere without permission.”  Harry lost him at ‘common areas’.  Niall wasn’t really clear on what a common area was.  In his mind, he saw a room that had average furniture, mediocre wallpaper, stereotypical art hanging on the walls – you know, common.

                While Niall was trying to imagine what his life would be like in a common area, Harry was rolling out more fine print, “You’ll be salaried at twenty-two hundred a month, all health costs will be covered. In fact, I think the first thing I’m going to do is get you in to an orthodontist.”  Niall found a thumb in his mouth, lifting up his upper lip so Harry could see his teeth as if he was a gift horse.  “Yeah, we’ll fix that.  No retirement plan, though.”  The tycoon’s son sat back in his chair while Niall tried to lick the taste of tycoon’s son’s thumb off his teeth.  “If I terminate the contract through no fault of yours, I’ll provide you with an apartment in the city and get you a salaried position at one of my companies.”

                Niall hoped Harry didn’t always talk like this.  It was so boring and Harry’s voice was so smooth that he felt slightly hypnotized and his mind was wandering.  Namely, his mind was wandering to whether or not Harry had a law degree, because this was all soullessly formal.  The truth was, Harry had sat with several lawyers for several hours, hammering out the specifics of this particular contract, to the point where he nearly had it memorized.  What he said next, however, wasn’t exactly legalese, “But if you quit or fuck anyone else, I’ll kick you out and leave you in the dirt where I found you.  Is that clear?”

                The expression on Harry’s face conveyed that he was dead serious.  Niall was getting the impression that Harry was very rarely anything other than dead serious.  So, he nodded with the appropriate gravity and received a throaty, “Good.”  Harry unfolded his elegant frame and adjusted his blazer as he strode to the door, “There are a lot of other rules, but I’ll have Grimmy go over them with you at the house.  I’ll give you a quick tour, but I have a few reports that have to be in first thing tomorrow morning, so come on.”  Grimshaw moved to open the door for his employer, but he was the only one of the remaining three that moved at all.  Niall was still sitting on the bed.  Liam wasn’t moving because Niall wasn’t moving and he was watching him with a sense of unease.  Harry was halfway out the door when he realized he was going it alone.  When he turned and came back into the room, his irritation was apparent.

                “Move!” he snapped at Niall.

                “I need to think about it.”

                “Niall—“ Liam blurted, but cut himself off, knowing Harry liked to control the room, but he couldn’t help himself.  The idea of Niall blowing this made his blood scream.  He watched as Harry prowled back across the plush carpet and towered over the small boy on the bed.  “What?”

                “I need to think about it,” Niall said again, peering up at Harry and looking all of twelve years old.  He was crumpling his sleeves again.

                “How long do you need to think about it?” Harry asked, his speech even slower than normal.

                Niall bit his lip as he considered.  “Tomorrow.  Probably around 3.  I can meet you here, if you like.”

                “Stand up.”

                Harry didn’t leave him much room to do it.  Niall had to push himself up off the bed to get leverage and when he rose, he inclined to huddle beneath Harry as if he was some sort of low-hanging flora.  He couldn’t stay hidden long, however, since Harry took hold of his chin and made him lift his face for Harry’s inspection.

                Liam wanted to say something so badly.  To Niall, he wanted to chastise, ‘You don’t need until 3 tomorrow to choose between life and death, just say ‘yes’!’ and to Harry he wanted to plead, ‘He’s a good kid, he’s just had a shock, go easy on him.’  Of course, he was restricted to saying neither of these things and he could only watch as whatever strange internal processes Harry used to make a decision ran their course.

                “1 p.m.,” he said curtly, the heaviness of his lips showing his displeasure.  “If you’re late, the offer’s revoked.  Come on.”  After a sharp nod at Liam, Harry Styles left the room without a backwards glance.  There was no time for delay, which meant that all Liam could do was squeeze Niall’s hand and insist, “ _Be_ here and say yes, Niall, for fuck’s sake,” as he made his way out the door.

~*~

                Harry was in a foul mood in the car.

                “You said he wasn’t cagey, Liam.”

                “He’s not.”

                “Then what the fuck was that?”

                “It’s a huge change, Harry; even if it is for the better.  It’s scary.”

                “ _You’re_ scary,” Grimshaw said, helpfully.

                “Shut up, Grimmy,” Harry did not find it helpful.  “If he plays me, Liam—“

                “He won’t.”

                “You don’t know that.”

                “He’s a good kid!”

                “Justin was a good kid.”

                “Shut _up_ , Grimshaw!”

                “He’ll be there, Harry!  He’s just cautious – he has to be.  Look, I know him, I know he wants out and I know he’d be good for you.”

                Harry gave Liam a look that made his insides go stony.  “You’d better hope you know him as well as you think you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come meet me on the social medias! I like to gossip and talk shop and be ridiculous!
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth
> 
> Also: WILL HE SAY YES!?


	9. Vicon Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the rough stuff. Nothing on-screen. Fair warning.

**Sheridan**

**23 Woodrow Avenue**

**Emery Hill, Pipetrial City**

                Niall sat for several minutes, just staring at the blank television screen across from where he sat on the bed.  He was going to need time, obviously, to sift through the shattered dreams he held in his hands and see if there was anything worth salvaging.  He was tempted most of all to keep hold of the sliver of hope that still believed in Liam’s love for him, but even his heart knew that was the shard that would cut most deep – which made it likewise the most difficult to drop.

                He watched the black television as intently as he would if it had been on, but in truth he was watching the thoughts as they whirled across the screen of his mind.  They were running so fast it was difficult to keep track.  They raced like a cyclone, skittering into the past to gather evidence, facts, the truth of experience, then crunching their findings together, trying to find the sum of the future.  But this math was faulty and unkind.  In the past, all he saw was misery, so what else could the future yield? And what was a boy bookended in misery to do but sit and stare at an empty television?

                One thing he did not want to do was cry again.  The headache from his earlier breakdown had yet to fade and his lips were chapped with dehydration.  To comfort himself, he pressed those over-long sleeves, of which he’d grown so fond, against his face and snuggled into the silky texture.  It felt like a gentle touch, a kind gesture.  That tiny bit of solace opened an unexpected window in Niall’s mind and let a little bit of light in; just enough to make him capable of crawling up to the top of the bed where the phone was and ordering room service.  Now that he knew that the room was on Harry’s tab, he felt no guilt whatsoever about ordering a full three course meal for himself and a small takeout box to take back to Louis.

                He ate himself into a stupor which was precisely what he needed at that moment.  He needed his mind to stop and he needed to heal. 

~*~

                It was several hours later when he awoke.  After a mighty yawn and a bedsheet-mangling stretch, he crawled his way out from under the dirty room service plates and shuffled to where he left his shoes, the only part of his ensemble not courtesy of Harry Styles.  Making sure to remember the Styrofoam shell of food for Louis, Niall puttered out onto the 5 a.m. streets of Pipetrial City, found the nearest subway station and proceeded to make his way home.

                A sense of giddy apprehension was arising in Niall as he sat on that train.  Of course, he assumed it was related to the bombshell of an offer he’d just received, but that didn’t sit right in Niall’s stomach.  Something else was bothering him, he simply couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly.  His feet were dancing on the rubber runner lining the train as if he could will the machine to go faster and when it finally stopped at his station, he scampered up the stairs and jogged the few blocks to his apartment.

                When he saw Zayn hunched on the front stoop to his building, he knew something had happened.  Happened with a capital ‘H’.  The cop was hugging himself against the morning cold and looked as if he’d been sitting out there for hours.  He was staring at a patch of pavement, his expression like a gutted fish.

                “Zayn?”

Everything came into a very sharp focus for Niall when his friend’s gold eyes flickered up to him and dulled with dread. 

“There you are,” Zayn said, lifting himself off the hard stone as Niall trotted up to him.

“What?  What’s going on?”

The sun was sluggishly crawling up the horizon like a schoolboy regretful to wake.  The few birds that were foolish enough to live in this nearly treeless borough were starting to chitter and, because this was the closest Pipetrial City ever got to being quiet, the two men on the street could hear them, if they were inclined to listen.  They weren’t.  All of Niall’s available senses were trained on Zayn, who winced, choked and gathered himself enough to say, “Louis.  They got Louis.”

                “What?  _What?_ ”

                “He’s in the hospital.  They think he’s going to be ok.”

                “Who got him? What happened?  Oh, my god, what happened?”  Niall didn’t recognize his own voice.  It was higher, scratchier, liable to break at any second.  He didn’t recognize his body, either, which had started shaking now like a cartoon kettle about to blow.

                “Winston’s boys, they had someone pose as a john and pick him up—“

                “Where is he?”

                “Niall, you gotta calm down –“

                “No!  Where is he?”

                “He’s at St. James, but Niall—“

                Immediately, Niall was charging recklessly to find his friend, even though he was going in the wrong direction.  He didn’t even stop when he heard Zayn call, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!  I’ll drive you!”  It was only when Niall heard the jangling of the keys that he stamped to a stop and came tearing back.  Zayn’s 1998 blue Sebring was parked against the curb and both men hurried inside of it, feeling what everyone feels in this situation, which was completely incapable of dealing with it.  How could human beings face catastrophe after calamity and never come to any realization about how to cope with the free falling sensation of helplessness?

                As Zayn pulled out onto the street, Niall gripped the handle on the door and wrung it compulsively.  He was trying to compose his mind, which had been reeling pretty fiercely before he’d gotten news of his friend.  “What happened?” he croaked.

                Zayn cleared his throat to stall.  As a cop he’d frequently had to be the bearer of bad news, but he’d never had to deliver it to someone he cared about.  “It was the car he got in, the Volvo, just before you left.”  There was guilt in this retelling, too.  He should’ve known that whoever roughed the boys up might come back to try it again.  “I didn’t recognize the driver, I mean, obviously, they found someone we wouldn’t recognize.  Anyway, they took him to Juggler Point.  I…  He was gone too long, so I put out an APB on the plate and—“

                “What did they do to him?”

                “-- I didn’t have to, a squad car, my friend Delany -- he found them because they thought the car was abandoned and –“

                “Zayn, what did they _do_?”

                “They just… They beat him really badly… Tied him down and beat him…”  Zayn’s voice fell away at the end leaving something hanging in the silence.

                “And?”

                There was an almost inaudible clack as Zayn snapped his jaw shut, as if not saying it could undo what was done.

                “They raped him, didn’t they?”

                Zayn’s stony countenance began to crumple and his eyes stung with tears of frustration he desperately tried to fight and choked, “Yeah.”

                Niall knew it.  He knew it the second he saw Zayn on the step. No – earlier than that, when he was on the subway train, hell – Maybe he even knew while he was dreaming in Harry Styles’ hotel bed.  Still, to have it confirmed broke him.  He leaned forward in the seat, cradling his face in his hands, breathing as steadily as he could. Twice he tried to breath in the four count rhythm, but he never made it past a full breath before the emotion stole his attention away again.

                “Fuck, fuck, fuck!  I should’ve—Oh, fuck, I should’ve stayed.”

                “There was nothing you could’ve done, Niall.”

                “It was Pete, wasn’t it?  It was fucking sick Pete…”

                “It was all three of them.”

                “Oh, God!” he let out a high-pitched whine, “I should’ve killed him.  Soon as I knew what he wanted, I should’ve killed him.  All of them, oh, god, why didn’t I kill them?”

                “They’re all in custody,” Zayn offered, knowing it was a cold comfort.

                Niall attempted to unfold, but his distress hadn’t left him yet and he banged his fist against the door and curled up again.  “How is he?  Did you talk to him?”

                Zayn shook his head.  “I got there just as they were loading him into the ambulance.  We didn’t really get to talk.  But I got guardianship over him, so there shouldn’t be any problem getting in to see him.”

**3444 29th Street**

**Vicon Village, Pipetrial City**

                St. James couldn’t be more antithetical to the hospital where Niall had faced down Dr. Kwak.  St. James was a storefront establishment in the run-down but well-intentioned Vicon Village, funded by the paltry scraps Pipetrial City could afford to filter to healthcare of the unfortunates.  The exterior of the building didn’t look all that different from the iron-barred liquor store that was right next to it.

                Before even getting into the building, Niall and Zayn had to speak into an intercom (circa 1989), identify themselves, which only had bearing once Zayn pulled out his badge, and then wait for the loud alarm (circa 1987) to go off to indicate that the door (circa 1976) had been unlocked.

                The woman (circa 1984) at the front desk was so large, Niall immediately assumed she was a transvestite.  Upon closer inspection, though, he saw that she was definitely a god-made woman and a rather striking one at that.  She sat behind a plate of bulletproof glass and only stopped eyeing them with apprehension when Zayn reminded her that he was the one who had signed all the paperwork and named himself guardian of that ‘sweet young hustler’ that came in earlier.  Her face softened and her glance skittered briefly over Niall before she nodded and said apologetically, “You can only visit him for about an hour.  He needs to rest.”

                After letting the two men through another set of locked doors, the nurse led them down the halls of St. James.  Unlike Dr. Kwak’s, St. James’ corridors were not lit with warm, rosy lights, nor painted with cheerful colors, nor filled with the soothing sounds of classical music.  Instead, they were paved with cheap linoleum, lit with harsh fluorescents, filled with overworked, desperate doctors and smelling of bodily fluids that hadn’t succumbed to numerous applications of bleach.

                “He’s in here.”  The nurse opened the door that led to a small room.  Small though it was, there were still three cots (circa 1947) fit inside, so close it was hard to tell which IV went to whom.  “Down at the end.” 

                Zayn and Niall hustled down to the cot at the far side of the room, both making a concentrated effort not to look at the inhabitants of the other two beds.  Niall felt a sickly giddiness come over him as he rushed to see what had become of his friend.

                Louis was on his side, turned into the wall and breathing deeply, in a pattern Niall recognized:  In for 4 beats, out for 4 beats.

                “Louis,” Niall called softly, coming around the bed to see his friend’s face.  Much to his surprise, outside of the damage Louis had sustained a few days ago, which was still healing, Louis’ face was relatively untouched.  His lips were chapped and raw and there was some new, subtle bruising around his jaw, but it was a relief when compared to the grisly image Niall had created in his mind.  Louis’ right hand was in a cast, but that was only what could be seen this side of the sheets.

                “Hi,” Louis said, weakly, his bright blue eyes widening at the sight of his best friend.

                “Hi,” Niall replied, stymied in his desire to take firm hold of his friend by the ignorance of where he could touch him without causing pain.  But Louis reached for him with his good hand and pulled him in close.  They shared an awkward, unfulfilling hug in which Louis whispered, “I’m so glad you came.”

                “I’d, I—I wish…  How are you?”  Niall knew it was a stupid question, but there was nothing else he wanted to know more.  Louis kept his face pressed against Niall’s bicep.

                “I’ll be okay.” 

                It was such an absurd thing to say, Niall had to pull back to take the measure of his friend’s face.

                “The doctors said I’ll be okay,” Louis continued, his focus trained on Niall’s lips, unable to meet his eyes, “My hand’ll be ok, so long as I keep my cast on and don’t get it wet.  My r-ribs are going to need some time to rest, but I won’t b-be able to work for a f-few weeks, anyway, so—“  With a soft ‘snerk’, Louis’ stiff upper lip shattered and his face crumpled into an anguished grimace as two big alligator tears streamed down his face.  Niall attempted to gather him up in his arms again, but it was woefully insufficient, the way Louis was lying in the bed and the way his IVs were draped. 

                “Hold on.”  Niall rose, shoved his way past Zayn, who was standing there feeling like a useless lump, then crawled into the bed behind the battered boy, spooning him carefully and taking firm hold of his shoulder, which looked to be in good shape.  In this position, Niall could feel the support that had been propped between Louis’ legs to keep them from closing and it made Niall’s stomach turn.  Louis relaxed back against him, taking shelter in his arms.  The more he tried to stifle his sobs, the harsher they became.

                “I’ll – I’ll leave you two alone,” an awkward Zayn said at the foot of the bed.  Louis stopped crying immediately at the sound of his voice, apparently unaware that there had been another person present.  Zayn reached out as if to put a comforting hand on Louis’ foot, but thought better of it and left the small room with his broad shoulders hunched.

                After he was gone, Louis’ sniffling returned.  “I can’t bear him seeing me like this.”

                “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

                “I have nothing but shame, Niall.”

                Niall was struck with a sudden feeling he hadn’t had in many years.  He remembered the first time in his life when he felt that the earth had been uprooted from its moorings and that it could never be re-tethered.  He had come home from school at the ripe young age of 8 and had been feeling pretty chuffed with himself for having walked home from the bus alone when he saw flashing lights on his front lawn.  He, like all boys his age, loved fire engines and ambulances and knew exactly what they were and when they were most likely to appear.  But that wasn’t what had distressed him.  In fact, his primary concern was seeing if someone would let him crawl on the fire truck and he was trying to make his way through the sea of grown-up legs when Greg grabbed him by the backpack and pulled him into the house.  He’d never seen his brother’s face look like that before.  It was drawn and bleak and he looked like he’d aged ten years.  But that wasn’t what had distressed him.  “What happened?” Niall asked.  “Mum tried to kill herself,” Greg replied.

                Apparently, Mrs. Horan, having witnessed earlier that day on a television programme the crowning of her old high school friend’s daughter in a local beauty pageant, had plummeted into a depression so profound, she had raided the medicine cabinet and ingested everything pill-shaped within. But that wasn’t what had distressed him.  That she’d almost grasped the reaper’s hand for which she’d been reaching wasn’t what had distressed him either.  What had so terribly distressed him was after Greg had told him to go to his room and stay out of the way, he passed the bathroom whose cabinet his mother had recently raided and saw his father there amidst the empty pill bottles.  The old man, who was only old in the eyes of an 8 year old but who had spent his life perfecting an iron-jawed, chop-wood-carry-water, manly realism about the world, was bracing himself against the sink.  His forearm was barred across his face to hide the rivulets of saltwater that made no logical sense falling from his eyes.

                That’s when Niall had first felt it:  That the very continent upon which he stood was a hot air balloon that had just released its sandbags.  Bobby Horan was a man of resolve and unshakable foundation. He was the man who had set firm limits and made sense of a world that was otherwise senseless under his mother’s rule. He was the task-master, the establisher of time-out-on-the-stairs and Niall’s reminder that boys don’t hit or cry, they use their words.

So now, his father’s tears had set him adrift in a way his mother’s suicide attempt hadn’t.  It was established and agreed upon that Mother believed and was in servitude to her suffering.  What a shock for poor, young Niall to learn that his indomitable father, in whose strength and stoicism Niall found such comfort, was likewise enslaved.

                Now he was witnessing Louis’ tears and that feeling was back.  His rock had been uprooted and misery had infiltrated yet another corner of Niall’s darkening world.  Niall had once been heard to remark that Louis Tomlinson could laugh off anything.  It was a theory that he’d never wanted tested and he certainly never wanted to learn held no water.

                Louis struggled to collect himself.  He was still hiccupping harshly and his breath was hitching and Niall could tell he was going to be terribly congested from all the snot.

                “Hey,” Niall said, flipping onto his back to quickly grab the box of tissues off the night stand.  “It’s ok.  You can cry.” 

                Louis clumsily reached with his good hand for a helpful tissue and he rubbed his face with it.  “No,” he said, before heartily blowing his nose, “It hurts my ribs too much.  And I just don’t want to.”  He crumpled up the tissue and threw it on the floor indifferently.  This was closer to the Louis Niall knew and loved so dearly and he gently kissed his ear and down his neck a little bit.  “They’re in custody.  Zayn told me.  But I’ll kill them, Louis, I swear to you, I’ll kill them.”

                “You can’t touch them, Nialler.”  There was an eerie sort of resolution in Louis voice that Niall found very chilling.  “They’re Winston’s boys,” Louis continued, “We can’t do anything against Winston boys.”  His voice trailed off into a cold whisper and Niall could feel his friend shrink in his arms.  “Hell.  We’ll be Winston boys soon.  It’s why they didn’t want to fuck up my face.”

                “No,” Niall snarled, lifting himself up onto his elbow so he could get a better look at his friend.  “No, there’s no way.  We’re not going to be Winston boys; we’re never working for him!”

                “Don’t yell,” Louis awkwardly patted at Niall with his good hand, “You’ll wake up old Kent and he’ll start talking about his colonoscopy again.  Just settle down.”  Niall took hold of Louis’ hand, but he didn’t settle down.

                “It’s not going to happen, Louis.  We’ll leave town first.”

                “And go where?” The older boy asked quietly.  “Cleveland?  New York? Yonkers?  How? You want to set up shop in rest stops and hitchhike?  _Hitchhike where_?”

                “Anywhere!”

                “And find another cop to protect us?  We have a good corner and I can fight a little bit.  Might have to get back on the H, of course—“

                “Oh, god, no, don’t talk like that.  You’re clean, now, Louis, we’ll…  Oh god…” Niall dropped his head on Louis’ shoulder, incapable of understanding how Louis could possibly be entertaining the idea of working for the most brutal, vicious pimp in town.  Spilling the entire story of Harry Styles’ offer was on the tip of his tongue.  The temptation was thunderous, and the only thing that held him back was that he had no idea how to include Louis in his get out of jail free card.  “I’ll find a way,” Niall promised, stroking the back of his index finger down the unmarked spot on Louis’ velvety cheek, “I promise, Louis, I’ll find a way to get you out.”  Louis plucked a clue out of that sentence that Niall didn’t know he had left.

                “A way to get me out?” Louis asked carefully.

                “Yeah,” Niall replied, his mind whirring on the curiosity of trying to get Harry to take Louis instead.

                “Not a way to get ‘us’ out?”

                Niall’s mind stopped dead in its tracks, regrouped and did an instantaneous about-face.  It still didn’t have anything to offer as to what to say.  He opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing was forthcoming.

                “You were with Liam, weren’t you?”  Louis’ attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice wasn’t entirely successful.  While Niall’s mind couldn’t think of anything useful to say, it was awfully quick in sussing out who had ratted on him and he immediately looked over at the door as if his glare could penetrate it and burn Zayn’s shoulder or something.

                “Don’t be angry with him,” Louis said, squeezing Niall’s hand.  “I had to know if you were safe.  I thought they’d got you, too.”  Niall’s hand tightened around Louis’ in turn and he huffed harshly into his neck.  He was still pretty angry at Zayn for putting him in this position.  He didn’t know if he should apologize or explain or even if he could lie.  Before he could decide, Louis interpreted the silence to fit his fears: 

“You’re going to leave with him, aren’t you?”  That spooky resignation was back.  “He’s going to get you out of here, isn’t he?”

“No,” Niall said, startling himself with the swiftness of his reply, “No, he isn’t – He’s – It’s not – I won’t—“  He choked on his own stuttering.  “I won’t leave you, Louis.  I don’t love anything in the world as much as I love you.”

Louis pulled Niall’s hand to his mouth and softly kissed his knuckles.  The man in the cot behind them was starting to shift and grumble, but both of the boys ignored it and stayed locked into each other and their own little world.

“I love you, too, Niall,” Louis said, his voice raspy, “But if you can find a way out, you have to take it.  You have my permission.”  He smiled and although Niall couldn’t see it, he could hear it in his voice. “Just send me postcards.”

There was a magnetism between the two boys that was evident from the first moment they’d met and it was never more palpable than it was right now.  If Louis had pressed Niall to stay, demanded like he had previously that Niall cut Liam out of his life, perhaps Niall wouldn’t have felt so determined not to leave him.  His sweet, gentle permission tied Niall more tightly to him than any attempt to make him stay ever could. 

“I’m not leaving you.  I’m not leaving you to get beat up and… and used by fucking Winston boys.  Not for all the tea in China.”

“Chinese tea sucks.”

“Then not for all the windmills in Holland.”

“What would you do with a windmill anyway?”

“Then not for all the whiskey in Ireland.”

“Got me there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come meet me on the social medias! I like to gossip and talk shop and be ridiculous!
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> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
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	10. En Route

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                Harry had been a moody bitch the rest of the day.  Grimshaw and Liam tried to give him as wide a berth as they could but that berth was very small indeed, considering they were bodyguards.  They truly began to fear the fallout if Niall didn’t return with a satisfactory answer.

                Liam was looking forward to ending this tense, tiring day and retiring to his room and relaxing, when he saw someone had left the light in the study on.  What he saw when he opened the door to turn it off was the boyish form of his employer, shoeless of course, sprawled across the arms of his father’s favorite leather armchair.  Then he watched that graceful form go all gangly and awkward as Harry tried to conceal what Liam had already had a pretty revealing look at in his lap.  He’d really only gotten a glimpse of what was on Harry’s iPad, but he knew those pictures of Niall so well, all he needed was a glimpse to identify them.  He also watched that same iPad nearly go flying as Harry scrambled to get his hand out of his pants.  There was an awkward silence in which Liam was hard pressed to think of something to say that fit the occasion.  Then Harry just hid his face.  Liam smiled.

                “Liam,” Harry groaned, “tell me he’s gonna say yes tomorrow.”

                “He has no reason not to.”

                Harry let out a sigh that seemed to fill the entirety of his throat.  Then he grumbled into his hand, “Dammit, Liam…”

                “Goodnight, Harry,” Liam said, turning off the light, “and put some socks on or something, you’re indecent.”

**3444 29th Street**

**Vicon Village, Pipetrial City**

                The towering nurse at the front desk harbored a lot of pity in her motherly heart and generously allowed Niall to stay an extra half an hour after her first attempt at shooing him from the room.  During the second attempt, however, it was under threat of bringing in machinery that she finally got Niall to shift.

                Set adrift, Niall wandered.  He shuffled aimlessly around the hospital block until he happened upon a street vendor selling sizzling hot, aromatic hotdogs that glistened in the sun as they turned on their revolving spits. He bought one for himself and was dumbfounded at the casual kindness he’d received from the vendor while doing so.  He walked away, munching and confused, until he went to wipe the grease from his mouth and realized the sleeve he was going to use to perform said task was pretty expensive material, not to be soiled.  Which explained why the vendor had been so nice – he’d mistaken Niall for being a member of polite society due to his upper-class duds.

                If Niall were to stay with Harry, no doubt such deference would be paid to him from many corners beyond just hotdog vendors.  It was a tempting thought, to sit in a seat of refinement and privilege while others scraped and bowed; to have diner hostesses and Laundromat custodians delighted by his presence instead of trying to find the quickest way to hustle him out. But if he was with Harry, he would probably never step foot in another diner or Laundromat, which was likewise appealing.  His mind didn’t run too far down these rails before they hit the brick wall of knowing that accepting these luxuries would mean abandoning his best friend in all the world.  And he found his logical processes back at step one.

                Niall was tired.  He considered going back to his little closet and trying to sleep, for the hour he had before he had to meet with Harry, but he still had a plan to formulate and, frankly, the idea of being in that matchbox of a living space without Louis there was just unpalatable. And along the lines of Louis’ whereabouts, the front desk nurse had warned Niall that the hospital didn’t have the funds to give Louis in-patient care and that they could only hold the bed for him for twelve hours after intake.  That meant another concern Niall had to factor in was that Louis was back on the streets come 4 pm. 

                The clock was swiftly marching on 1 pm.  That gave him 3 hours to change the world.

**En route to 23 Woodrow Avenue**

**Emery Hill, Pipetrial City**

                In the car ride to meet Niall at the hotel, Harry Styles would have looked the perfect embodiment of composure and grace if it weren’t that his knee was bouncing up and down so fast it was practically vibrating.  Liam couldn’t ignore it and the desire to get his employer in a grapple hold that would put a stop to it was pretty intense.

                “Harry,” he finally snapped, “You’re making me nervous.  Cut it out.”

                Harry just minded him coolly from the corner of his eye and folded his leg with his ankle atop his knee.  He was still for a few moments and then his foot started flapping.  Liam rolled his eyes and gave up, trying to calm himself with a heavy sigh.

                They were all surprised when they opened the door and found Niall exactly as they had left him, only he looked like he’d spent a week full of sleepless nights in the few hours since they’d last met.  He lifted his eyes when Harry strode into the room and Liam noticed they were sunken and their bright blue was now a pale gray.  He knew in his gut that something had happened in those hours apart; he knew it as surely as he knew that Harry wouldn’t care. 

                Niall looked so small, sitting there at the foot of the bed and he got even smaller when Harry towered over him.

                “Well?”  Harry asked curtly.

                Niall stole a glance at Liam in a way that filled everyone in the room with apprehension.  Then he rose like a naughty schoolboy before a taskmaster and tried, failed to look intrepid.

                “I have –“  his voice faltered.  Then he gently cleared his throat and tried again, “I have a request.”

                Harry, who had entered the room like he owned it with a casual swagger like it was his own beachfront property in Hawaii, now shifted suddenly to that chin-up, chest out, stick-up-my-butt position he had cultivated specifically for intimidating his father’s board.  It likewise proved effective on low-end rent boys.  Niall couldn’t meet his eyes.

                “Go on,” Harry drawled, clearly wishing he wouldn’t.

                Niall clearly didn’t know how to do this.  He could negotiate with men through car windows for sex, but he had never gone toe to toe with a beautiful, powerful, clean-cut billionaire in               runway clothes.  He peered up through his badly-dyed fringe and took a fortifying breath, “I have a – I mean, when we first met, you said if you had to get rid of me, you’d give—“

                “Through no fault of your own,” Harry clarified impatiently.

                “Uh – yeah.  You said that you’d put me up in the city and give me a job in one of your companies.”  Harry was staring him down and his expression didn’t change or give Niall any indication of how well this was being received. 

                “And?”  By the snap in Harry’s voice, it wasn’t being received very well.

                “And,” Niall tried to find his momentum, “I was just hoping… if you have jobs and apartments to hand out, I… I have a friend I can’t leave behind.  I can’t leave with you unless I know he’s looked after.”  Niall locked up, knowing his voice would hitch if he kept speaking, so instead, he looked up at Harry, hoping to see a shred of understanding on his face.  What he saw was irritation with a light sprinkling of bored.

                “What?” Harry said flatly.

                Niall licked his lips and tried to keep breathing normally.  He was exhausted in every way a person could be, physically, emotionally, mentally, and on top of it all he was scared.  More than anything, he wanted to run into Liam’s arms, or at least meet his eyes for a morsel of support. But he got the impression that any show of weakness in front of Harry would only weaken his position further.

                “I have a friend –“

                “I got that.”

                Niall took a deep breath and braced himself.  “My fr—Louis.  I can’t leave Louis unless I know he’s going to be okay.  He wouldn’t do that to me; I’m not gonna do that to him.  All I’m asking is a job for him and a place to live.”

                This was not what Harry wanted to hear.  This was not the way Harry envisioned this going.  If he had his way, Niall would be giving him head in the back seat of his luxury car right now, not making absurd, unreasonable demands of him.  The whole thing made Harry angry.

                “You want me to put some street trash friend of yours in a position at one of my companies?”  Harry asked, his eyes narrowing and his upper lip curling into a sneer.  “And give him a place to live, just like that?”

                The name calling chaffed the young hustler, but he was too defeated to make a point of it.  “Yes,” he said, simple, tired.

                “And if I say no?”

                The hand-me-down shirt Niall was wearing was tangled in Niall’s fingers again as the young man’s heart banged against his ribs.  His survival mind was screaming at him to make a different choice, but he still replied, “Then I can’t go with you.”

                At this response, Harry’s eyes immediately snapped over to Liam accusatorily like this was Liam’s fault.  Then he whipped back to Niall and stepped away from him as if he were pestilent.

                “No!” he snarled, his affront and distaste apparent, “No! I’m not a fucking halfway house for whores!  What the hell’re you thinking?  Now, are you coming or not?”

                Niall’s stomach was hollow and sour and his own blood felt poisonous.  But he said softly, “No.”

                Everyone in the room stood dumbly, unable to believe what they’d heard.  Liam closed his eyes and winced.  Grimshaw was on the verge of laughter.  Niall looked about to faint, but Harry grabbed him by the jaw, probably a little too hard and made the boy look up at him.

                “I’m not going to ask you again.  This is a onetime offer.  There’s plenty of trash like you on the street that would kill kittens to get this opportunity, so I’m not coming back and I’m not fucking joking.  You get that?”

                Niall tried to nod despite the vice grip on his skull.

                “Are you coming,” Harry articulated very slowly, “or not?”

                The way it came out didn’t sound very much like a question at all.  Harry left very little room for any answer other than what he wanted, but Niall, weak, queasy Niall, managed to find it:

                “No.”

                For a second, Niall thought Harry would tear his jaw off.  But as fast and brutally as it had come, the grip was gone.  Niall risked a glance at his face and got a clear view of a spoiled little boy wretchedly confused by not getting what he wanted.  But a thin veneer of indifference swiftly refined his features and his voice assumed an affected air of nonchalance, “Fine. Fine.”  He buttoned his blazer in a useless gesture of agitation and headed for the door.  Grimshaw was already opening it for him, when Liam, unable to stop himself, touched Harry’s shoulder and muttered quickly, “Harry, hold on, we can work this out, just let him try to exp—“

                “No,” Harry waspishly brushed Liam off him.  “He wants to live and die as a street whore?  Let him.”

                Grimshaw was already at the car, but Liam couldn’t seem to get himself to move.  All he could do was stare at Niall, just standing there in the middle of the room, utterly lost.  If he left now, he knew that this would be the last time he ever saw the sweet boy who’d brought such hope and gaiety into his life.

                Harry stood in the harsh Pipetrial sun waiting for his body guard, whose mind was easy to read.  “Don’t worry, Liam, you’ll see him again—“ he called, pulling out his sunglasses and slipping them over his perfectly emerald eyes, “—when they fish him out of the Hailor.”

**En Route: Emery Hill**

                When Harry got into the car, he slammed the door shut so hard the entire vehicle rocked.  He was furious and Liam could feel a lot of that fury directed at him, but he was well-defended by a frustration of his own.  Grimshaw hadn’t even started the car before Liam said, “You could’ve heard him out, Harry—“

                “This is your fault, Liam!” Harry snarled, ready to get into it.

                “There’s no way I could’ve known that he was—“

                “Who’s Louis?”

                Liam realized that was where he lost his case and he twisted his jaw while he sought any way to spin this that wouldn’t result in him being an eternal scape goat.  “I didn’t know they were that close—“

                “It was your job to know they were that close, Liam!  Goddamn _fuck_!”  With the expletive, he tore his sunglasses off his face and launched them at the front windshield, making Grimshaw flinch and nearly drive the car into a bike rack.

                “Fuck’s sake, Harry!”

                “Shut up, Grimshaw! I wanted that kid!”  With a wookie-like groan, Harry curled forward into his own hands and gnashed, “I don’t want to do this again.  I don’t want to wait another fucking year to try to find someone else, this takes too fucking long, why can’t he just fucking _behave_?”

                Part of Liam couldn’t help agree with Harry’s litany.  He hadn’t enjoyed his job when it came time to sample the wares of sundry prostitutes.  It made him feel like one himself.  The world was the kind of depressing that clung to the skin and didn’t wash away.  He would often come home, unable to sleep after what he’d seen, what he’d _done_.  Hollow, hopeless eyes were always watching him behind closed lids and the air in his lungs was so cold and clammy he’d started smoking again to burn it out.  He’d heard somewhere that there was a fine line between sex and death and that line was never finer than on razor-sharp street corners at 2 a.m.

                Finding Niall was finding salvation.  As embarrassing as the whole situation was, it was made moreso by the fact that Niall was recommended to him by one of his uncle’s friends.  “Let me tell you, this kid – all you gotta do is be nice to him and it’s like finding your high school sweetheart,” he’d said.  Of course, Niall hadn’t been the easiest nut to crack, but once he did, Liam was certain he’d found the antidote to what had been poisoning Harry for so long.  Liam’s heart cinched up again and he spat, “Harry, just give him what he wants!”

                “No!” Was Harry’s automatic and petulant reply.  “I’m not starting an arrangement by bending over for him!  That’s his job!” 

                And yet, Harry did not look at all happy about his decision.  In fact, he had worn the same expression when his father had told him there was no chance he was going to school for fashion and that it was either a business degree or living with his Aunt Sharon in Connecticut for the rest of his life.

                There was a sickly silence as Grimshaw navigated his craft through the seas of the lunch rush traffic and Liam could feel the ball of distemper coiling in Harry’s stomach as distinctly as if it were his own.

                “You have an entire apartment complex that’s just sitting empty, Harry.”

                “Those are luxury lofts, Liam.  It’s a fucking money pit, but they’re still Styles Luxury Lofts.”

                “The ones on Hope street aren’t.”

                “I’ve made my decision, Liam, and I’m already this close to firing you so don’t push it.”  He couldn’t be bothered to give a visual on ‘this close’ and instead chose to cross his arms over his chest and scowl out the window. 

                “You know, the Union One Building is always looking for some help in the mail roo—“

                “Shut _up_ , Liam, you’ve made enough of a mess already!”

                “Thing about whores is they really do work hard,” Grimshaw threw in, his voice earthy and sturdy.  He was no more looking forward to putting up with a sexually frustrated Harry than Liam was.  Harry could be a handful, but unlaid, he was a bloody terror.  Furthermore, Grimshaw had done his own share of whoring on Harry’s behalf and had no less than two STD scares and one attempted stabbing.  “Work ethic that can’t be beat, Harry.”

                “I will fire the both of you.  Just watch me,” Harry pouted into his fist, which was mashed against his mouth.  They were almost home, the towering monolith that was the Styles Estate already casting its shadow over them.

                “Fuck,” Harry hissed, wincing like he’d stubbed his toe, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

                “Did I tell you that Niall can swallow my entire cock and hum Scarborough Fair at the same time?”

                “Go back,” Harry sprang forward to jab Grimshaw in the shoulder, “Turn the car around and go back.  And give me my fucking glasses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting back to this, I promise. Life is chaotic -- a move, a career change, a rebirth. I want to be a writer, you know? If only I had the time to write :D Your support means so much to me and I'm grateful for each and every one of you. Hearing from you is always a pleasure, and I hope you are all healthy and well :)
> 
>  
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth


	11. Emery Hill

**23 Woodrow Avenue**

**Emery Hill, Pipetrial City**

                There wasn’t a lot for Niall to do.  Certainly not at the moment, but Niall had a feeling that there was nothing for him to do for the rest of his entire life.  He couldn’t even imagine leaving the hotel room.  There wasn’t much left for him outside of it, other than an ailing friend he couldn’t support, a closet he was going to get kicked out of, an increasingly powerful crime syndicate that wanted to use his body in new, terrible ways and scores of lecherous men reaching for him like a hoard of horny zombies.  Today was feeling a lot like yesterday.

                To be fair, and Niall made a point of being fair, it wasn’t anything terribly worse than what he’d suffered before, except for one thing: all of it would have to be borne without Liam’s arms around him.  Niall didn’t know when that ton of bricks was going to hit him.  For the moment, he was just numb, a bit dazed and very thirsty.  But he knew, perhaps later today but no later than tomorrow, he would feel the grief of losing that precious man from his life and knowing he’d never be braced against that strong chest again.

                Niall had just begun to turn his thoughts to where and how he was going to get a new tent for Louis and himself when the door to the hotel room swung open and before he could even identify the figure silhouetted by the bright mid-day sun, he was being snapped at to “Get in the car.”

                “What?”

                The figure took a few steps further into the room and turned out to be Harry, looking tired, irritated and yet somehow still striking as all hell.  “I’ll put your friend in a cupboard somewhere and chuck him in a mail room where he can’t make too big a mess of things.  Now get in the car.”

                Niall rose from the bed, not really registering what was going on until Liam appeared beside his employer and extended a hand to him.  “Come on,” he coaxed. “I’m gonna go pick up Louis as soon as we get home and I’ll get him set up in his new place.  We’re gonna put him in the flats on Hope street.”

                “Oh,” Niall muttered, naturally gravitating toward Liam’s hand. “He’s in the hospital.  St. James.  He got jumped.”

                “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry,” Liam said, folding his larger hand around Niall’s and gingerly leading him through the door.

                “Can I come with you?”

                “No,” Harry interjected, like a brick through a spiderweb. “I want to show you my house.”  He snatched Niall’s wrist and yanked him away from Liam.  Liam watched as Harry dragged the boy like a reluctant puppy on a leash and wondered if perhaps he should’ve given Niall more warning.

The car was decadent to say the least.  Niall noticed first off, as he was hauled into its interior, that it had a new car smell as if it was rolled right out of the factory and into Harry’s garage.  The seats were a plushy leather, more welcoming by far than any mattress Niall had lain on in his life and although it wasn’t quite big enough to be a limousine, it offered enough space for Harry to sit back in one of those plushy seats with his long legs splayed out and shove Niall down between them. 

                Liam got a peek and saw their highly suggestive position and paused in the door, “I’ll sit in the front with Grimmy, shall I?”

                “No,” Harry said, raking his fingers through the fine, blonde locks in front of him, “Get in.”  Liam didn’t move despite the direct order.  As Niall shifted to get in a position that wasn’t cutting off circulation to his feet, Harry was giving Liam a particularly dangerous look.

                “Liam,” he said darkly, “Get in the car and shut the door.”

                Liam must’ve swallowed something the size of a shoe for all his gulping.  But he crawled into the seat next to Harry and closed the door, curling against it and preparing to launch out of it at the earliest possible convenience.

                The car rumbled softly to life and Niall’s eyes suddenly felt too heavy to lift.  The weight of Harry’s gaze on him was just as heavy as Liam’s inability to look at him.

                “Hey, pretty,” Harry cooed at him, those remarkably long fingers curling in his hair possessively, “Look at me.”  Afraid to disobey, Niall lifted his eyes and stared up into the face of the man that now owned him.  He was definitely handsome, Niall concluded, and he decided to be grateful for that, even though he knew how little it meant in the long run.

                “Don’t be scared,” Harry said softly, dropping his hand to stroke his thumb over Niall’s chapped, flaking lips.  “I have no intention of hurting you.  You please me, and I’ll take really good care of you.  Now, c’mere.”  To do so, Niall had to brace himself on Harry’s high thread count pants as he got his knees under himself and when Harry’s lips met his, Niall’s first thought was that Harry was certainly the best tasting man he’d ever kissed.  After a moment, however, it became equally clear that best tasting did not equal most talented.

Everything about Harry was hard: his lips, his demanding tongue, his teeth, the hands that held his head, not to mention what Niall felt coming to life against his stomach as Harry pulled him closer.  Originally, Niall had intended to pull out all the stops and give this Styles boy a welcome kiss that left no doubt as to the expertise of his most recent hire, but under the crush, all Niall could do was find the space to breathe.  It was a simple thing to determine a man’s experience with intimacy based on his kissing technique and Niall would’ve rated Harry a true beginner.  This was hard to believe, considering his astonishing good looks and charisma, but if that weren’t enough, there was ample photographic evidence of him with supermodels, actresses and pop stars gracing the covers of all the local gossip mags.  Niall could only figure these women were either completely for show, or their prestige and accomplishment didn’t lend them enough courage to tell one of the most powerful men in the world he kissed like a trash compactor.  Niall certainly wasn’t going to say it.

                There was a hand up his shirt, now, feeling him up and palming his nipples.  Niall’s finely tuned hooker-senses were tingling and he knew Harry was hot for him – throbbingly hot.  And sure enough, as their lips parted with heated gasps, Niall heard the familiar sound of a fly being unzipped.

                “I hear you give a magnificent hummer.”

                The hand that was in his hair held fast and guided him to Harry’s lap. This was all very run of the mill for Niall, but as he descended closer to those newly-exposed silk boxers, his hands clenched in Harry’s pants and he resisted, locking his muscles hard.  Harry gave him another pull and when Niall didn’t budge, he drawled, his voice laced with warning, “What’s the matter?”

                Niall sat frozen, except his eyes flickered over to where Liam’s knee was sneaking in the peripheral of his vision.  Liam, who had been keeping his eyes on his own reflection in the glass of the window, jumped at the opportunity to say, “Just let me get in front with Grimshaw.”  He was leaning forward, as if to take hold of the man’s shoulder to tell him to stop the car, but before he could do so, there was a dustpan of a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

                “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Liam,” Harry said, his syrupy manner of speaking nearly sounding sinister.  “Chill out.”  Harry could feel the thunderous beat and break of Liam’s great heart in his chest and he didn’t let go until Liam submitted and settled back into his seat.             

                “There, see?”  Harry asked, tipping Niall’s chin up and giving his lips a brief nibble, “I imagine Liam’s seen you with a cock in your mouth a hundred times.”  Niall opened his mouth as if to protest, but Harry just slid his thumb between the boys lips and commanded.  “So get to it, working boy.”

                It was difficult to put Liam out of his mind, impossible really, the way Niall’s body was particularly attuned to Liam’s presence.  Nevertheless, it was what he endeavored to do as he leaned forward and kissed the outline of his employer’s cock before he pulled it free of its silk covering.

                As for Liam, he knew how to deal with pain.  He’d been in a fair share of fistfights, been stabbed twice and even shot once.  He’d been hit by a car and had been thrown from his motorcycle.  He’d been bitten by a pitbull, gotten a root canal and burned himself every time he tried to make a soufflé.  Liam Payne was good with pain.  This, though, was a kind of pain he’d never learned how to manage.  When he was a young man, he’d discovered the woman he had wanted to marry was having an affair with the douche bag that kept stealing his shifts in the auto shop.  When he’d served briefly in the military, he’d fallen for one of the few female recruits, had defended her against unwelcome advances and treated her like a lady in a very hazardous environment, only to have her tell him he was ‘cute’, ‘sweet’, but ‘not enough of a man’ for her.  While this had crippled Liam’s self-esteem, it was by trying to prove her wrong that he won a Silver Star.  The medal didn’t stop the harrowing sensation of real heartbreak.  That was the worst pain of all and Liam was feeling it right now as he sat on Harry Styles’ Italian leather seats.

Liam knew exactly what Harry was doing and he hated him for it.  There was a soft grunt from Harry and Liam felt the vibrations through the seat as Harry dropped his head back on the head rest and pushed his hips forward.  Liam knew immediately that Harry was getting his first brush with Niall’s velvety hot mouth.  He knew from Harry’s whimpers that Niall was probably swirling his tongue around Harry’s crown before giving it a tender suck and slipping it further down his throat.  Niall was an artist and Liam was more irritated than he could remember being in a long time.  He wondered if Harry ever knew how often he came close to getting a nice smack in the mouth from his own bodyguard.

                The moans became louder and less refined.  Liam had the small victory of knowing that Harry had to be a little bit embarrassed about how easy he was to unravel.  They hadn’t even traveled half the way back to Harry’s mansion and a quick glance told Liam that Harry was fighting tooth and claw to stave off his orgasm and not reveal what a horny, undersexed, inexperienced kid he was.

                That quick glance to confirm his superiority had cost Liam a lot, however, because he also caught a glimpse of Niall’s sweet, soft lips screwing themselves up and down Harry’s shaft, the way they had done to Liam’s not so long ago.  It was an instantaneous reminder of what Liam had lost, which was, of course, Harry’s cruel design.

                The back seat of the car really began to rock as Harry’s orgasm neared and Liam could hear the sultry sound of Niall humming to really bring him off explosively.  Liam could have told him that the state Harry was in, Niall didn’t really need to pull out all his tricks – a half-interested, lazy lick would have been good enough for Harry at this point – but he understood the lad’s wanting to ensure his own job security.  The sounds Harry made as his hips bucked into Niall’s mouth were primal, unrefined and therefore sexy as all hell.  From the expression on his face after he came down, if either Liam or Niall were inclined to look (which they were not) would prove that Harry viewed those gorgeous noises as more of an embarrassment. 

                Niall swallowed without being told.  Added to the score of Harry’s tremendous hygiene was that he even tasted good; or so thought Niall as he wiped the overspill from his chin on the sleeve of his shirt. 

                As Niall was contemplating this, a strong pair of hands scooped him up by his armpits like he was a toddler and he alit in Harry’s lap.  Then the man was kissing him again, greedy tongue chasing down all the remnants of his seed in Niall’s mouth.  The aggressive embrace squeezed a soft mewl out of Niall and Harry released his lips, panting softly.

“You,” he purred, reaching down to fondle Niall’s bottom with a bit too much enthusiasm, “are definitely going to be my most prized possession.”  While the compliment was unique, it did very little for Niall’s heart.

                “Can I see Louis, soon?”  Niall asked, his voice soft and small.  It was evident that Harry didn’t want to be reminded of the other half of the bargain he’d struck.  His face was dark, but he still wove gentle fingers into Niall’s hair and massaged his scalp as if to calm him. “Let’s get him settled in, first, then you two can visit.  Liam, soon as we land, go take care of that, yeah?”

                “Okay,” Liam said, still unable to look away from the window.

                “Good.”  That soothing hand turned harsh in Niall’s hair and Harry pulled his prize back to look at him.  “I like you,” he said simply.  “I wanted you for a long time and you come highly recommended.  And you give a helluva blow job.  But you ever corner me like that again, you’re gone.  Is that clear?”

                It wasn’t particularly clear to Niall because Niall didn’t think in terms of power dynamics the way Harry did.  All Niall knew was that if he had run away with Harry and left Louis to fend for himself, he would spend every moment of the rest of his life in queasy anxiety wondering what had become of the only person in the world Niall could say truly loved him.  He had asked for what he needed and talk of having ‘cornered’ Harry was confusing.  But it was apparent that H. Styles was in no mood for proper communication and he just wanted immediate, thoughtless submission, so Niall just said, “Yes.”

                There was a soft grating sound as the car pulled off the paved street and into a gravel driveway and within moments, it had stopped. Niall received a curt slap on the bum.  “Out.”

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                When Oliver Styles, Harry’s grandfather, originally decided he wanted Pipetrial to be the hub for his burgeoning empire, he noticed there were very slim pickings in the already over-populated city for a prime piece of real estate upon which he would build the palatial estate he envisioned.  He knew he wanted something on the Upper West Side and he wanted his to be the largest property in the state.  After a thorough search, he managed to find a plot of land perfect for his design; of flawless dimension, unbeatable location and reasonable price.  In fact, the only thing about the plot left to be desired was that there was a public high school already atop it.  Understandably, the get-what-I-want gene had already been deeply ingrained into the Styles DNA and the school was bulldozed under the promise of a new, better school to be built with Styles assets.  True to his word, Oliver Styles did exactly that and a new school was built a few blocks away, on a notably inferior plot of land, replete with the Styles affinity for sparing no expense.  What was not discovered until much later, after many palms had been greased and the fine print was actually read, was that the school was intended, and therefore became, a private school with tuition reasonably priced for the Pipetrial elite.  As Oliver Styles would have happily told you, it was a family credo that whatever could be monetized, should be monetized.  This, of course, left the children of Pipetrial’s general populace disenfranchised and poorly educated, but public officials could hardly be distracted from their luxurious lifestyles, bought by their powerful new friend, to care.  So, unopposed, Oliver Styles went about building his wonder of the modern world, that he would lovingly pass to his son Elliot, who would reluctantly pass it to his son, Harry.

                It was this wonder that Niall couldn’t stop staring at after he’d bumbled out of the car and onto the front drive.  That it had a front drive in a city so dense those with a front stoop were considered decadent was alone a marvel.  Prostitutes in general had very little to do with the Upper West Side, and Niall in particular eschewed the area due to the overpriced donut shops and lack of arcades.  Every time he’d caught sight of the Chrysler-building-esque topper of the estate, he assumed it was probably some government building that housed foreign dignitaries and held fancy meetings with the ambassadors of the world. 

Now, Niall still couldn’t really comprehend what he was looking at.  It looked like one of those sprawling estates whose natural habitat was usually English country sides, but this one was made of glass and metal and marble.  It was as if the architect sought the most aggressive building materials he could find, but then sculpted them as delicately as possible.  The monolith went up and up and up and from where Niall was standing, he couldn’t see the top of it.  When he looked straight ahead, he saw a great stone staircase winding up the sides of the drive like the horns of a ram. 

Behind him, Niall saw an impressive stone wall over a story in height and enhanced by ornate ironwork above it.  There was a gate that was still in the process of closing, more intricate wrought iron that had been formed into an elaborate crest, the only part off which Niall could make out was an enormous ‘S’.  His eyes were roving over the army of topiary lining the drive – my god, was that honest to god grass beyond? – when Harry, unimpressed by the whole thing, took his wrist and marched him up the stairs.  It was a sloppy affair because every two steps Niall tripped by either ogling the finely manicured lawn or craning his neck back to take in the magnitude of the sky scraper.

“C’mon,” Harry said softly, giving him a tug.  It was rare that anyone he brought to the house was unselfconscious enough to actually gape with his mouth open the way Niall was.  Most of the time, people tried to impress him with their nonchalance and suavity.  Niall was guileless.  Harry was fascinated.

It was about the fourth time Niall had bumped into him that the two heavy oak front doors swung wide and a tall, fashionable woman who didn’t have a single straight line to her came billowing out. This was Sarah; she was Harry’s personal assistant.  Every aspect of Harry’s life went through this young woman who had a bachelor’s in political science and no desire to use it.  Her hair was dark and piled high atop her head and she wore thick-rimmed hipster glasses that Niall would be willing to bet had no glass in them.  Her makeup was so perfectly composed, Niall would’ve thought she was a movie star except for that her curves were so intense she’d take up the entire screen.

“Harry, that shirt really makes your eyes—“

“This is Niall.”

Still attached at the wrist, Harry dragged his new acquirement forth for her inspection.  Niall had never been trained in the niceties of formal introduction, so he gave her an uncommitted nod that was lost in his up-and-down perusal of her fine fettle.

“Okay,” she said, appraising him quickly and finding him wanting.  There was a palpable twinge of jealousy coming off her and Niall knew immediately that she knew exactly what he was here for.  Little did he know she was the one gathering Liam’s petty cash to pay for their nights together.

“I’m Sarah,” the woman said as she tucked the Tiffany pen that Harry had given her one Christmas in her sleek mane and extended her hand.  “I’m Harry’s assistant.  If you need something, you see me.”

Niall shook her hand, but he nearly grabbed air for how briefly she endured his touch.

“Tell Eddie to get his contract ready.  I want it executed before dinner tonight.”

The Tiffany pen was immediately back out and working furiously over her notepad.  Then Harry gave Niall a little tug and led the three of them through the outer portal of Oliver Styles’ baby.

It was no small act of grace that Harry kept a firm lock on Niall’s wrist since, as he rattled off administrative demands to Sarah, Niall was lost in devouring as many visuals as his eyes could consume and he very easily could have run into something very expensive.  The two most impressive sights upon walking down the steps of the foyer and into the sunken floor of the main hall, were geographically opposed: one on the floor and one on the ceiling.  The main hall had an open ceiling several stories high, the balconies of different floors lined with marble balustrades and numbering six.  Hanging the length of these six stories was a chandelier the size of a house.  Niall was no expert in the finer things, especially chandeliers, but he was quite certain this monster had been crafted by dwarves.  Sturdy, thick bars of gold dripped with diamonds and tiny turrets supported glowing, crystal orbs.  It was suspended by chains so fine and so strong, they could’ve held the Fenris wolf and were made by, as Niall would later describe it to Louis, magic. 

He hesitated to step under it, but thankfully Harry and Sarah had come to a stop just before it, which left Niall standing on the perimeter of the second marvel of the hall: inlaid in the marble floor was a staggeringly large crest which gave Niall full view of the sigil he had missed on the gate.  It was a compass rose in a tasteful arrangement of colors, a giant, regal ‘S’ situated dead center.  Of the four cardinal points, the Northern point was prominent, primarily, Niall assumed, to imply that was the one direction in which the Style’s family was heading.

“You actually live here?”

Harry and Sarah stopped their conversation to look at him, startled by the sound of his voice.

“I mean,” Niall elaborated, “these aren’t, like, offices or the new World Trade Center or something, yeah?  This is really a house?”

Sarah’s eyes were just as cold and rocky as they ever were, but she still chirped, “Oh, my god, he is adorable.”  The smirk on Harry’s face told him that while his question was endearing and quaint, it was also a little stupid.

“Want a tour?”

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                Liam watched as Harry swept Niall away into his fantasy castle.  Niall didn’t even spare a backwards glance for Liam – not that he thought he would.  Liam had seen it a hundred times over, the way people would enter through the Styles gates a grounded, self-possessed type person, then within the course of a few hours, begin to wonder what the world had that wasn’t being given to them.  It was an insidious change, not easily marked, but it affected everyone.  Sarah had developed a habit of sending back the first plate of food at a restaurant, just on principle.  He’d seen Grimshaw’s mother, after only two hours in her son’s small quarters, start looking at her weathered handbag as if it had betrayed her.  He’d even found himself taking the Lexus into rush hour Pipetrial traffic because he couldn’t bear the thought of catching his own reflection in the subway windows.  It was no wonder that Niall had already forgotten the underling who had shared a few stolen nights with him in an unimpressive hotel watching footie games.

                Jesus, Liam missed football.

                “You taking care of it?”  A jangle of keys snapped Liam back to the present.  Grimshaw was there, the keys to the car dangling off his fingers and a look of exhaustion with a lining of irritation on his features.

                “What?”

                “The other rent boy, you gonna go pick him up?”

                “I suppose,” Liam sighed, unable to keep his attention from wandering back over to the new arrival who was gawping like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory at the glass and gold elevator that was descending to pick him up.  Grimshaw followed his line of sight and snorted.  “The other kid as cute as that one?”

                “Does it matter?” Liam frowned, “He’s getting a new line of work today, anyway.”

                “So you can fuck him for free.”

                Liam cuffed Grimshaw playfully on the ear, “Shut up,” and snagged the keys from his hand, “Gimme those!”  and marched to the door, “Fucker.” Grimshaw laughed at him and Liam left, too caught up in his co-workers relentless teasing to notice that the boy in the ascending transparent elevator had turned from examining the splendor around him and was watching Liam’s departure with his hand pressed to the glass.

**2001 Christobel Street #519**

**Bismuth Valley, Pipetrial City**

All Zayn cared about from the moment he awoke was picking Louis up from the hospital.  The day, however, was determined to delay him.  He had been dead asleep when he’d gotten a phone call that started out with nothing but screaming coming from the other end.  It only took him a few moments to realize it was his wife.  Apparently, someone’s car alarm had been going off for five minutes in the parking garage of the supermarket where Perrie worked.  Whipped into a frenzy, Perry had self-righteously marched to the dairy section, procured a carton of eggs, proceeded outside where she triumphantly and without discrimination egged the obnoxious automobile.  Unfortunately, said automobile’s owner returned mid-assault and the hurling of eggs quickly became a hurling of insults.  While things hadn’t escalated to physical violence, Perry had promised the car owner, a widower and single father, that his negligence and subsequent abuse was enough to “have my husband come down here and arrest your ass!”  Which was how Zayn found himself still shaking off the cloying weight of shattered REM sleep and trying to mollify his wife over the phone.  Then, Zayn heard what sounded like the store’s manager arriving on the scene and suddenly talk of firing was being bandied about despite Perrie’s repeated promise to pay for the eggs.

So, Zayn took his police car on an unauthorized trip to the Ralph’s on the border of the Ironworks and the Warf, for no other reason than that the presence of a police car occasionally had the magical effect of making people stop screaming.  Zayn soon found out his wife wasn’t among that demographic.  In fact, the screaming got worse since she perceived her husband’s presence as support and his badge as proof of her being in the right.  In general, Zayn didn’t have a difficult time dealing with people in hysterics, but his wife was entirely different.  There wasn’t a gesture he could make without having to calculate what repercussions would arise in the homestead.

                Luckily, with the help of the manager, they managed to get Perrie under control, although the Ralph’s had certainly lost a customer for life.  With much objection, Perrie got in the squad car after the manager, Kevin, an unassuming man in his early forties, made her take the rest of the day off.  “I don’t know how much longer I can keep her on, Officer,” he’d told Zayn. “She keeps acting like this, I’m gonna have to can her.”

                It was by the grace of god alone that she hadn’t been fired, but to hear her tell it, she should’ve been given a medal.  And Zayn heard her tell it and retell it several times as he drove her home, the hyperbole swelling with each rendition.  There was so much Zayn wanted to say, from how she had clearly overreacted to dear god, why couldn’t she just be the woman he fell in love with, but he had learned the only way to keep the peace was to not have an opinion, because it was invariably wrong.

                When the first thing Perrie did upon arriving back at their apartment was reach for a bottle, Zayn didn’t know whether to be relieved or despair.  After the first few glasses, Perrie was a delight.  She even reminded him a little bit of the funky, funny rocker chick he’d met in high school band.  He could still remember the first time he saw her, heavy black eye makeup and purple hair, holding an acoustic guitar and rocking out with some mangled chords her fingers were too weak to hold.  Her fingers had gotten stronger and so had her dependence on Zayn, who had been more than happy to be her knight in shining armor at every turn.

                After five drinks, things started to turn sour and Zayn wasn’t feeling so much like a knight in shining armor as he did a disillusioned Don Quixote.  He was getting ready to go to work when she appeared in the bedroom door, ablaze with accusations of why her husband of all fucking people didn’t have her back.  He should’ve told Kevin to go fuck himself and arrested the widower for disturbing the peace.  Why was he so fucking useless?  Why did she have to marry a fucking useless fag who couldn’t even defend his wife at the fucking—fucking-- place!  She’d married a cop because she’d wanted a real man, god dammit!  When was the last time he’d even fucked her?

                To be fair, that wasn’t Zayn’s fault.  It was difficult to get intimate with one’s wife when every night when one got off work, she was already passed out.  What was almost harder than that was that the few times they actually did manage to come together between the sheets, it was more depressing than when they hadn’t.  Still, Perrie had much to say on the subject and did so in a full, slurring baritone while the hackles in Zayn’s neck got higher and higher.  To engage her would set her off more and Zayn was in no mood to get hit again.  It was Zayn that had taught her to punch and he was thoroughly regretting having done it so well.

                “Don’t you turn your back on me!  Don’t you fucking turn your back on me!” Was the last thing Zayn heard as he slipped out the door, his mind already shifting from the chaos at home to the look on Louis’ face when he told him how high the Winston boys’ bail was going to be.

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                The Library:  Floor to ceiling bookshelves, full of works of great literary masters.  Niall could tell from where he stood on the threshold that not a single one had pictures in it.  There was a bay window that looked out onto the front lawn that was particularly appealing and Niall could envision himself snatching whatever book was at hand to have an excuse to sit there.  In fact, the bay window looked like the only viable sitting place, since all of the other furniture in the room was antique, delicate and obviously uncomfortable as all hell.  Niall considered how a bean bag chair would really warm the place up a bit.

                “You read much?”  Harry asked, his slinky frame draped in the doorway and his eyes locked on Niall.

                “No.” 

                “Well, start.  We need to have something to talk about.”

                “What do you want me to read?”

                Harry hadn’t expected that question.  His face clouded over in a rare moment of introspection.  All Niall could think was _Not Catcher in the Rye, not Catcher in the Rye._  When the cloud lifted on Harry’s face and he moved to the bookshelf, Niall was struck with a new panic: _Nothing Dickens, oh god, nothing from Charles Dickens!_   But when Harry retrieved a book from one of the shelves and put it in Niall’s hand, the Irishman knew he had prayed against the lesser of three evils.

                “Doestofsky?”

                “Dostoevsky.”

                “G’bless you.”

                “It’s the best book ever written.”

                “It’s the biggest book ever written.”  It was like a feathery brick in his hand.

                “Be grateful I didn’t give you Tolstoy.”

                Niall kind of was.

                “What’s it about?”

                In response, all Harry did was tap his fingertip on the cover page.  The answer was written there:  The Brothers Karamozov.

**Pipetrial City 12 th Precinct**

**339 23rd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                Zayn’s timing for his arrival at the station was as uncanny as it was unfortunate.  He had pulled into the parking lot and was checking out the rearview mirror to make sure there was nothing stuck in his teeth when he saw reflected in his peripheral, three young men.  They were walking away from the station, laughing and jostling each other in perfect freedom.  They moved like toughs who just won the local rugby match and Zayn recognized them immediately.  He was out of the car before he’d even taken the keys out of the ignition.

                Max, Pete and Garrett were so involved in congratulating each other that when Garrett just disappeared, it took Max and Pete a few seconds to notice.  When they looked back, there he was, his head pinched against the side of a very stormy, very violent looking Zayn Malik.

                “What the fuck?!”

                “Jesus, he’s like a velociraptor, I didn’t even—“

                “You three are supposed to be in holding!  There’s no way you made bail!”

                The two Winston boys who did not currently have their faces in Zayn’s armpit, slowly relaxed into the cool authority of certitude.  The third kept thrashing in Zayn’s grip, promising to “make him eat his own knee caps when I’m outta here” and the like.

                “Looks like the charges have been dropped, man,” Max replied, holding his hands out in what was supposed to be an apologetic gesture.

                “What the fuck are you talking about?” Zayn snarled, the lock on Garrett increasing in his frustration.  It made Garrett’s face go bright red and he cried out, “Max, just fucking smoke him!  Why are you talking to this freak?  Get him off me, man!”  The street punk flailed out and tried to land a blow on Zayn but he was in a terrible position to do anything effective.  “Who the fuck is this guy?”

                “It’s the towel-head who’s always—“  Pete was cut short when Max elbowed him harshly in the ribs.  Zayn didn’t know why Max bothered to cut his cohort off mid-insult, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Garrett was just choking now, Zayn’s grip was so tight.

                “You know,” Max said carefully, proving himself to be the brains of the group, “Police brutality charges are usually all it takes to ruin a cop these days...”

                After a second, Garrett dropped to the pavement, but Zayn was already advancing on new prey.  “What the fuck are you talking about charges being dropped?”  He had Max backed up into the street, where cars were blazing by recklessly.  At his left, Pete spoke to draw him off, “Looks like it was all just a big misunderstanding.”

                Looking at Pete was hard for Zayn to do.  The kid had a ghastly jackal’s grin that Zayn wanted to bust apart with his fists, but he kept him in the corner of his eye anyway and snarled, “Misunderstanding?”

                “Your arresting officer fucked up.”  Garrett was off the pavement now, and flanked Zayn at his right.  “Nothing to hold us on.”

                “He saw you!” Zayn turned on him and Garrett puffed himself up in a very thin display of bravado.  “He caught you in the act!”  Zayn’s fury was starting to feel bigger than himself and he measured his breathing to keep himself from doing something truly regretful.

                “He saw shit,” Max spat at him.  “He revoked his statement!”

                “Shoddy fucking police work, man!” Garrett brayed, trying to get some of his own back by shoving Zayn fiercely from behind.  The cop stumbled forward and was caught by Pete, who sunk his fists into the plush of Zayn’s coat and snarled, “You’re lucky we don’t press charges for unlawful arrest!  That’s serious shit!” It was evident that he wanted to launch Zayn either to Max or into a car, but Zayn was disinclined to allow it.  Instead, he broke the hold on his coat, twisted one of Pete’s arms until his body contorted to make his head an easy target and reeled back his other hand to make a perfect mess of that obnoxious face.

                But he didn’t.  He was still a cop after all and reckless brawling in the streets was generally something he should be putting a stop to instead of engaging in.  What’s more was when he’d taken a closer look at that leering mug staring back at him, it was evident the little prick was goading him on.  There was nothing in the world these thugs wanted more than for him to give them an excuse.

                He dropped his arm and then released Pete’s wrist with a gesture of disgust.

                “So the heathen is house trained!”  Garrett chortled darkly.

                “He sure is pretty when he’s broken, isn’t he?” Max grinned lopsidedly at Zayn, his voice going smoky.  “Betcha Winston could make good use of him.”

                Zayn feinted left, the smallest hint of attack, but it was enough to make Max jerk clumsily back against a parked car and smote all his big talk.  “Don’t get cocky, you little shit,” Zayn hissed through his teeth.  “If you think I’m gonna look the other way, you are seriously fucking mistaken!”

                “No, I’m not,” Max returned with a surety that ruffled Zayn’s own.  “This town is ours.  Soon, you will be, too.  Catch you around, Malik.”  He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and boldly turned his back on a man that could very easily kill him.  Pete made a point at making a cheeky ‘click’ at Zayn as he passed and Garrett checked Zayn’s shoulder in a sophomoric display of dominance.  “Watch yourself,” he sassed, trying too hard to sound cool.  Despite that, Zayn felt a sinking sensation in his stomach that told him the advice should be well-heeded.

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

                The Theater:  It was an adolescent boy’s dream.  Well, to be honest, it was everyone’s dream, but only adolescent boys would be willing to admit to it.  The screen covered the entire south wall and it was lined with shelves containing every video game Niall had ever heard of: Every Grand Theft Auto, Halo, FIFA, Madden, even Mario Brothers game ever made.  In the cabinet beneath the television were all the top consoles as well as a Super Nintendo that had Niall nearly jumping up and down.

                “This is amazing!” he burbled, slinging himself around the bright red, stately sofa and running his fingertips over the plastic game boxes.  “Wait til Louis sees this!  You play all of these?”

                “I hardly played any,” Harry said a little stiffly.

                “Why not?”

                “I don’t have time.  Look, I don’t want you spending too long in here, is that clear?” 

                The bright, boyish light that was keeping Niall airborne faded as he looked back over his shoulder.  “Oh… Okay.”  The book he was still holding suddenly started to feel heavy and dead in his hand.

                “We mostly have this room for my sister’s kids.  She has two and we needed some way to keep them out from underfoot.”

                This was going to be a hard promise for Niall to keep.  He looked back longingly at an X-Box controller that had been left on the coffee table.  He’d only played a real X-Box 360 once when he was at Louis’ dealer’s flat and he’d fallen madly in love with the machine because he’d managed to get Louis to play games on it with him for five hours instead of shooting up and passing out.  Niall hadn’t won a single game, but he still ended up feeling victorious.

                “Your sister’s kids stop by often?”  Niall asked a little hopefully.

                “No, but they’ll be here next month.  C’mon, I don’t have a lot of time.”

**Pipetrial City 12th Precinct**

**339 23rd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**              

Gilbert wasn’t a bad police chief.  He was just old, tired, and beaten like a bad dog.  And like any bad, beaten dog, his bark and bite were equally ferocious.  He’d also never been particularly fond of Zayn, using what he called ‘my experiences in Iraq’ as an excuse for his prejudice.  He had enough grace to shut up when Zayn pointed out he wasn’t Iraqi and had, in fact, been born only a 44 hours’ drive away from Pipetrial, but some of the other officers let it slip that when Zayn wasn’t in the precinct, the chief would refer to him as the ‘rag-head’ or, chokingly, ‘the Islamic.’  Ignorant though the chief was, he couldn’t be ignorant of the fact that Zayn was actually a damn fine cop.  He had an uncanny knack for mollifying the combatants in domestic disputes, getting through to the crazed homeless and gaining the trust of some of the most hardened gang bangers.  Not to mention he was the man he wanted at your back in a brawl.  Gilbert didn’t like Zayn personally, but he had still been trying to promote him to a day shift for months now.  It was a mystery to the force why Zayn hadn’t accepted, although the rumor was, he wanted the time away from his hellcat wife.  Chris Delany was the one to defend Zayn against those rumors, but Chris Delany was Zayn’s best friend and everyone took his loyalty for granted.

                When Zayn came charging into Gilbert’s office, the chief hardly looked up from the paperwork on his desk.  He just ran a hand through his silver-grey hair, shifted his age-swollen body and told Zayn, “Shut the door.”  Zayn did not.

                “Why are those thugs walking free?”

                An irritated inhalation told Zayn that Gilbert knew very well what he was talking about.  His once bright blue, now milky grey eyes rolled over to the open door and he grumbled again, “You’re gonna wanna shut that door, kid.”

                “No,” Zayn answered, glancing back through it and catching a glimpse of Delany at his desk, who was fervently pretending he wasn’t listening.  “I think some people might need to hear this.”  Indeed, most of the idlers in the room outside seemed to shift their idling til they were in hearing distance of the Chief’s office.

                Gilbert leaned back in his chair and took the measure of the man in front of him.  His dislike for the younger man was always palpable, but he seemed to be making an extra effort to meet him, man to man when he said, “I had to let them go, Malik.  We didn’t have anything on ‘em.”  His voice was slow, even patient, as if he was willing Zayn to hear the import behind the words.  Zayn was not placated, “Bullshit!  Delany caught them in the act, no judge would overlook an officer’s testimony!”

                “It appears,” Gilbert said, his head bowed forward like a ram determined to just plow through this, “Delany made a mistake.  Says he got the wrong guys.”

                “The hell he got the wrong –“

                “Delany!” Gilbert called.  “Get in here and tell officer Malik what you didn’t see!”

                Zayn’s mind was working feverishly to determine who the villain was in this scenario.  His heart refused to believe that his oldest, only friend on the force was the one betraying him, but the proof was lumbering slowly toward the chief’s office, his face toward the floor and his huge frame hunched.  Before he arrived, Zayn tried, “The kid could identify them, put them in a lineup!”

                Gilbert’s look was hopeful as Delany came through the door.  He was clearly angling to pit the two beat cops against one another and let them sort it out, but he replied to Zayn, “That kid was in a fight with those thugs only a few days ago, Malik.  Court would consider that enough of a motive for him to lie.”

                “It’s also a great motive for those shits to jump hi—“

                “Chris,” Gilbert interrupted Zayn’s good point, “It seems Officer Malik’s got some questions for you.”

                Through red, Zayn glanced to his right and saw Delany, big and ruddy, a fine bowler, a little slow and unable to keep a woman.  Delany, the young man who had been Zayn’s friend since they survived training together.  Delany, who was always the one to bring the turkey dogs to the intimate cookouts Zayn and Perrie would hold on their all-too-small patio.  Delany, who had gotten in his squad car at 3 o’clock in the morning to drive over to the Malik apartment because Perrie was having a meltdown and Zayn was busy trying to quell a gang riot in Lauchner Square.  Delany who broke Voelzke’s nose because Voelzke thought it would be funny to nickname Zayn ‘the terrorist’.  The proof of Delany’s loyalty was endless, so it made no sense that he was standing here about to break Zayn’s heart.

                “Go on,” Gilbert goaded, his voice taut, “Tell him.”

                “I made a mistake,” Delany told Zayn’s left breast pocket.

                “And?” Gilbert prompted again, wincing at the teeth he was having to pull.

                “And I had to rescind my statement.”

                “Why?” Zayn’s teeth gnashed and he was having ideations of choking his best friend out on the carpet.

                “Because I didn’t see—“

                “No,” Zayn’s fist was in Delany’s blues, making him face him for the first time.  The tension brought some of the other cops to the door and Gilbert to his feet. “Why would you _lie_?”

                Delany was chewing etheric gum trying to find the words, but Gilbert had a line prepared, “It’s a serious offense to accuse another officer of lying on a report, Malik.  You sure you wanna go down that road?”  Zayn’s eyes snapped to his chief, unable to believe this was actually happening.  The old dog leaned forward over his desk and whatever was in his mind was so grave that his bravado dissolved into something searching and sincere. 

                “Times are changing, Malik,” he said, staring him dead in the eye.  “Now, I know you.  We’ve never been best mates, but that don’t mean I want bad things to happen to you.  Just make sure you end up on the right side of this when you get called up.  You hear me?”

                The fist in Delany’s shirt collar unfolded and Zayn looked around at all the eyes watching them.  Those eyes watched knowingly and it made Zayn’s skin crawl.  Even Delany’s face spoke of a hopeful resignation that Zayn would fall in line with the rest of them.  All Zayn could do was take a step back and shake his head.  He couldn’t form the word ‘no’, even though it was the only sound he could hear at the moment.  When he walked to the door, the small crowd that gathered there parted to let him pass.  As he was reaching the large, smoked glass doors that were the gateway to the building, he heard a voice, probably Voelzke, call, “Not worth it for some junky whore, Malik!”

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

The Kitchen:  Niall had never seen a fridge so impressively large.  The freezer alone was of a size ample enough to house all Niall had ever eaten in his life.  Its sides were a shiny chrome and Niall was convinced it had to be from the future.

                “Can I open it?”

                “Sure,” Harry snorted.

                A cool, refreshing, fresh fruit and veg breeze wafted over Niall as he opened the magnificent temple of food.  To Niall’s eyes, it was an entire grocer’s in a box, the TARDIS of gastrointestinal delights.

                “Who’s going to eat all this?”  He had to ask.

                “You, by the look of it,” Harry replied, charmed by the innocent delight Niall couldn’t help but radiate.

                “Yes,” the Irishman replied dreamily.  “Yes, I will.”

                “Whenever you’re hungry, just call Olga on the intercom and she’ll whip something up for you.  There’s a breakfast spread that starts at 7 am and I usually have dinner at 8, if I don’t eat out.  But you won’t eat out with me.”

                “Olga?”

                “The chef.”

                “You have a live-in chef?”

                Harry seemed suddenly irritated with Niall’s naivety and he snapped, “Yes, now come on.  I want to get done with this tour today.”

                Then he was out the door in a high-fashion flash and Niall looked out over the room with the warm, honey tones, the sturdy oak island in the middle of an artistically cracked stone floor that trailed off into a cozy sitting area replete with furniture that begged to be cuddled into.  He lingered as long as he could in the first room that made him feel like this place could become his home, when he heard Harry call sharply from the hall, “Niall!  Move!”

**Pipetrial City 12th Precinct**

**339 23rd Street**

**Chalcedony Circle, Pipetrial City**

                Zayn stood on the front steps of the precinct and watched the passing traffic, both automotive and pedestrian.  He’d always been drawn to big cities, even as a child, when on family vacations, he’d wanted to stop in the urban jungles rather than pass through to the nature destinations his parents were convinced would be so edifying for him.  _Weren’t cities where people went to be alive?_ he’d asked them, _and nature and small towns where people went to die?_   His parents looked at him like he wasn’t their own child after that.

                Nevertheless, it was a conviction he had to the present day and this was the first moment where he’d ever asked himself why.  He had to wonder whether his subconscious equated suffering with life, because he’d never met a soul who had entered this big city and left it unscathed.  He didn’t feel that the revelation was poetic or profound.  At the moment it simply felt factual.  It then led him to question whether he’d sought this, if he had subconsciously raked in situation after situation that would ensure a perpetual struggle because it was the only way he felt engaged in the world.  It would explain his career choice, his marriage, his addiction to this city, certainly.

                He had begun asking this unexpectedly wise and knowledgeable voice in his head how he might be able to break free of this habit when there arrived a presence beside him.  A lumbering, guilty, familiar presence.

                “What do you want, Delany?” Zayn asked, more tired than anything else.

                “Just… I wanna make sure you don’t do anything… y’know.  Stupid.”

                “Like what?  Call the cops?”

                “No, just…  Y’know, I mean.  I know you really liked that kid.”

                Zayn glanced into his fellow’s eyes, expecting to find the innuendo he’d become accustomed to whenever anyone mentioned his relationship with Niall and Louis.  No one on the force actually knew the exact nature of it, which lent much room for lewd speculation.  That cruel edge was absent from Delany’s eye, but Zayn was still wary of him.

                “What’re you trying to say, Delany?  You gonna make me out to be some –“

                “No!  No,” the man replied, raising his hands and eager to keep the peace, “I know you’re not like that.  I’d never accuse you of being a fag, brother, I know how you feel about Perrie.”

                Zayn internalized the wince and wished he didn’t have to.  Hate language was nothing new to him and he found his resistance to it was starting to fissure.  Shortly, it would crack.

                “What’d they offer you?” he bit out, his attention locked on the sidewalk and his jaw just plain locked.  He wasn’t at all mollified by Delany’s response, but he wasn’t willing to make an issue out of it, either.

                “It’s not a they, it’s a ‘he’,” Delany replied.

                “I know who it is,” Zayn snapped, making his simple friend go a bit rosy in the cheeks.  “What’s he offering you?”

                “Nothing.”

                A group of kids on skateboards with backwards hats sailed by them, chattering like insects and Zayn waited until they’d passed to curl into Delany’s personal bubble and snarl, “You seriously want me to believe that you woke up one morning and decided to stop giving a fuck about right and wrong?”

                “No—“

                “Then what?  _What_ , Chris?”

                “It’s—He—“  Chris choked, glancing around as if enemies were lurking and prime to strike.  He just held up his hands defensively, “Can we not talk about this here, please?”

“Sure; you wanna yell about it?”

“Zayn, there are still some guys on the force that have no idea --”

“They sure as hell will when I get done with—“

“ _Don’t_.  Zayn, don’t.  This is so much bigger than you, it’s bigger than me, it’s even bigger than Gilbert, ok?  Don’t you think he’d put a stop to this if he could?”

“I don’t think he’d put a stop to anything that put him higher up on the dunghill.”

“You’re difficult to talk to when you get snarky, Malik—“

“Tell me!”

“Look, I’m sorry!”  They were getting looks from passersby and a few of the cops leaving the building lingered for a moment, curious and unsettled by the brothers in blue fighting.  Chris continued, sotto voce, “You’re my best friend, I didn’t want to do that to you; believe me, I didn’t!  I didn’t want to do that to that kid, either, that poor fucking kid…”  Zayn watched as his friend’s decorum crumpled and he realized that in his fury, he’d forgotten who he was talking to:  Delany.  Delany, who had solved his mouse problem by luring the little rodent into a cage, trapping it, naming it Penny and then proceeding to love and care for it unto this very day.

“You know I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Z.  You’re my best friend,” Chris repeated, his face slack and doughy in his regret.  As furious as Zayn was, his rage withdrew from targeting his friend.  Being angry with Chris Delany was like kicking a puppy.  Zayn folded his large hand over Delany’s shoulder and braced him firmly, like a father, “Then _why_?”

Delany’s grimace dug trenches in his face.  “He’s got something on me.”

“What?”

“He’s got some—“

“I heard that!  What’s he got on you?

                “I can’t—“

                “Yes, you can!  You said yourself, I’m your best friend.  I can help you.”

                “No, you can’t, not with this—“

                “Chris—“

                “I’m sorry, Z.  This isn’t why I came out here,”  the larger cop rubbed his earth-hewn hand across his prematurely wrinkled brow and snarled softly in frustration.  “I came out here to tell you they’re gonna get you, too.  I don’t know how, but they’re gonna find a way.”

                “Let ‘em try,” Zayn snorted, knowing his record was clean.  Red-rimmed eyes that had seen the lay of the land from a better vantage peered at him and Chris said, “Just make sure your people are safe.”

                “My people?”

                “All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t put anything past them – not anything.  They’ll come after Perrie, your sister, your parents, your uncle, anyone and there’s nothing we can do.  ZAYN!”  But Zayn wasn’t listening.  His feet were pounding the pavement as hard as his heart was pounding in his ribs.  But it wasn’t Perrie’s name it was beating out.

                He had to get to Louis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to see you all again, dear readers. I've decided to post what I have written of this, although I don't believe I will ever come to complete it. My ideas for the plot are long since forgotten and I lack inspiration. 
> 
> That said, I have an already completed fic that I am editing and posting called Burn Out. I wrote it with the magnificent Miraal, author of Privilege, which was the 1D fic that got me writing in the first place. You can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13664028/chapters/31385808
> 
> We would love to know what you think.
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth


	12. St. James, Viacon Village

**En Route to:**

**3444 29th Street**

**Vicon Village, Pipetrial City**        

As soon as Liam had the hospital address typed into his GPS and got the car on the road, he released a deep sigh, and with it all the tension he didn’t know he’d been holding.  Things had gotten very tense in the palace of the spoiled prince who was never spoiled to the point of satisfaction.  Now, though, it seemed that Harry might have finally gotten hold of something worth having – something, or rather someone, healing.  As their earlier escapade in the car proved, it wouldn’t be without bumps, but Liam was filled with hope that this might actually be the catalyst that would dispel the cloud of melancholy that had perpetually haunted the young heir and, by proxy, those who worked for him.

                Because Liam actually liked Harry.  He believed there was something truly good in him – an exceptional humanity, even – despite what seemed like exhaustive efforts on Harry’s part to be the biggest asshole in the world.  Often, Liam tried to imagine him as the son of some middle class data analyst, or single mother, who had been taught to follow his heart and work hard.  He imagined Harry with no media swarming him wherever he went and nothing expected of him beyond good manners and gentleness.  Liam could imagine that boy very easily and it made Liam’s heart ache to the point that he willingly gave up the one thing he’d truly wanted in years in an effort to find him.

                The reception area for St. James looked better suited to a Jiffy Lube.  The lighting was harsh, the floor was dirty, and most unpleasant of all, there appeared to be a bit of a fracas.  There were three young men, all of them looking like they could have been attractive once, if failure and fists hadn’t found a way onto their faces, acting as a united force against a nurse who looked fresh off the boat from Themyscira.  Her name tag read ‘Marianne’.  The fulcrum of their argument seemed to be concerning a small crumpled figure, confined to a wheelchair and protected behind the nurse’s ample thigh.

                “Just because he can’t stay here doesn’t mean he’s going with you!” the woman thundered in a way that suggested she had no qualms about making this a physical altercation.  The boys pretended they were pretending to be frightened, “Oh, look at the big lady!”, but Liam saw them jump.  He took another look at the object of their contention.                 

                All Liam remembered from the first time he’d witnessed Louis Tomlinson was a mischievous smile, a recklessly aggressive threat and a bottom that was just begging to be scooped up by a pair of strong hands.  It was a wonder that Liam recognized him at all in his current state.  His arms were crossed, he wore a ball cap low over his eyes and he glared ferociously at the floor three feet in front of him.  But there was a telltale sparkle, even in his dejection, which was a trademark of the impish young street hustler and Liam found himself getting punchy at the thought of anyone having hurt him.

                “You gotta understand, ma’am,” the boy with the buzzed head was saying, “He’s our family now.”  Liam could tell by the steely glint in the nurse’s eye that this ‘Marianne’ was a force to be reckoned with.  But even an amazon had to think twice about facing off with three street toughs that looked like they could crush bones with their jaws.

                “I’ve asked you boys nicely,” Marianne said, puffing out her ample chest, showing off her broad shoulders, “I would appreciate it if you left.”

                The way Louis was gnashing his teeth certainly planted suspicions in Liam’s mind about what had happened here.  Of course, it was none of his professional business to know the cause of Louis’ hobbling, but he would have to be made of stone to not be effected by the scene.

                “Well, sweety,” the rat faced boy with the jackal grin stepped forward, popping his gum lewdly, “Who’s gonna make us?”

                “I will,” Liam said, rocking out internally at having been handed the perfect opportunity to act like James Bond.  The boys whipped around and apparently they watched the same movies Liam did because that same rat fink leered at him, “Oh, hey, look!  We got a tough guy!  Looking to defend the lady’s honor?”

                “She looks like she can defend herself.  Actually, I’m here to pick up my friend.”  He jerked a thumb at Louis, who seemed to notice him for the first time and gazed up at him with the starry eyed wonder of a dog whose master just returned from his tour of duty.  If he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging.

                “Who the fuck’re you?” The dark one asked.  He had black, heavy eyebrows that he pulled together in a disapproving glare and facial scruff that was threatening to be a full beard by sundown.

                “Liam Payne,” Liam Payne replied, unable to get over this incredibly fancy feeling of being very cool.  It might be said that he got a little carried away with it when he swished a business card out of his coat and proffered it for the punk’s perusal. “Styles Co. Procurer of objects of rare excellence, trained in Latin, Renaissance Art and beating the shit out of snot-nosed gang bangers like you.”  Of that list, only two of those things were true, and even then, only if Niall Horan could be considered an object of rare excellence.  However, his business card was made of silk, had no other words but his name and, most importantly, bore the Styles family crest; he had carte blanche to make up whatever the hell he wanted.

                The heavy eyebrows became even more disapproving as he took the card and gave it the once‑over.  “What the hell’s Styles Co. gonna do with this slut?”

                “Whatever the hell it wants,” Liam shrugged, moving past the confounded young men to Marianne who was still guarding Louis with her sizeable frame. 

“May I?” Liam asked kindly, gesturing to Louis.  To her credit, the nurse checked in with the boy in the chair before just handing him over to a man with nice cufflinks.  Louis muttered a brief, “Oh, thank you god, yes,” before wheeling his chair out from behind Marianne so Liam could get to him.

“Max, we can’t go back to Winston without him –“ Ratfink was saying to Eyebrows as Liam helped Louis gather up his small bag of personal belongings.  Max, however, had a firm grip on that business card and knew exactly where it placed him.

“You’re stepping on some major toes, man,” he said, catching Liam’s eye on his way out.  Liam just smirked at him as he wheeled Louis out the door, Marianne marching purposefully behind them.  “You’d better watch out!” 

Liam felt the subtlest tap against his shoulder from where Max had flicked his business card at him, but he couldn’t care less; he’d gotten Louis and he was a rock star.

At least until he stepped out onto the cooling Pipetrial streets.  Here he just felt like dorky old Liam who’d rescued a kid whose best friend he’d been having casual sex with.  Luckily, he was immediately distracted from his awkwardness by Louis exploding to life.

“Man!” he burst free of his sullen posture and tipped his head back to try to see Liam, “You should’ve cracked their skulls in!  That would’ve been awesome!  Niall said you were in, like, the army or something – should’ve killed ‘em!  I would’ve.  I totally would’ve.  Damn wheelchair.  Sorry, nursie!” He 

took Marianne’s hand and kissed it, but it was clear from her face that she adored him despite his insults to her medical equipment.

“Who were they?” Liam asked, steering him toward his illegally parked car.  Marianne’s face didn’t show the same amount of forgiveness about that.

“Nobody,” Louis snarled. “The most nobody you’ve ever seen.”

“They the ones that put you in the hospital?”

Louis’ bubbliness evaporated somewhat.  Marianne gave them a moment’s privacy by going to open the trunk and put Louis’ small bag of stuff in it.  She had to really put effort into making it look like an effort.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

                “They must be out on bail.  Fuckers.”

                “What happened?”

                “You really work for Styles Co.?”

                Liam let it drop.

                “Yep.”

                “Really?  No way.  Get the fuck out.  No, wait.  That makes sense, kind of.  I mean, how else were you going to afford Niall for all those nights, especially if you were just some vet on government pension?  But, I mean, Styles Co.?  Get the fuck out!  That’s fairy-tale shit, like you might as well have been from Narni—CAREFUL!”  During Louis’ prattling, Liam and Marianne had taken it upon themselves to get Louis out of the wheelchair and then, with extreme awkwardness and fumbling, into the car.  This had resulted in a momentary tangle in the seatbelt and subsequently knocking Louis’ head against the car frame.

                “Sorry, doll,” Marianne cossetted him.

                “Ow,” Louis pouted and Marianne and Liam shared a paternal look over his head that made the whole scene very familial.  Thankfully, it was an easy fix and soon Louis was gingerly lowered into the passenger seat where he readjusted and made himself quite comfortable.

                “You’re not taking that,” Marianne corrected when Liam went to fold up the wheelchair and chuck it in the trunk.  Liam just gave her a stupefied look, “Why not?”               

                “Because,” she sauntered over to him, somehow looking very sultry despite her almost mannish frame, “I already gave you Louis, can’t have you taking everything, can I?”  Liam could tell by the graceful arch of her brow that he was being flirted with.  He was a little bit surprised and more than a little flattered, because after all, who could blame her?  Liam Payne was a rock star.

                “How’s about I leave the chair and take you?” he flirted back.  She liked it.

                “My shift ends at 10.  Drop by?”

                Liam smiled.  What the hell was he doing?

                “Dad!” Louis whined in the car, “Stop chasing tail and take me to Niall!”

                That made Marianne smile and delicately guide her long, dyed red hair back over her shoulder.  “Thanks for rescuing him.”  She strode back to the open car door and bent down to pinch Louis’ cheek, “We all grew rather fond of him.”  Louis beamed for her and kissed her cheek as Liam crawled into the driver’s seat.

                When they were on the road, they sat in silence for maybe the entirety of 15 seconds before Louis said, “I’m so telling Niall you were flirting with the nurse.” 

Liam ignored that.  “Why did those little shits beat you up?”

                “Because they’re little shits,” Louis shrugged as if it was obvious. “Niall sent you?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Figured.  Where is he?”

                “With Harry.”

                “Who’s Harry?”

                Liam took his eyes off the road and stared at Louis dumbfounded as long as he possibly could before being considered an irresponsible driver.  Louis just leveled him with a look of defensive skepticism.

                “He didn’t tell you?”

                “Tell me what?”

                Liam wished to god there was just a red light so he could get a solid look at the kid and tell whether or not he was pulling his leg.  He started stuttering nonsense, “He di—You mean th—Wh…”  and ended up just laughing at himself.  It didn’t seem to soothe Louis, whose little face was crumpled in confusion.  “What?  What’s going on, Liam?”

                “How do you not know any of this?” Liam managed to blurt out.

                “Know _what_?  I’ve been locked in a freaking hospital for the past 12 hours without a phone!”

                Well, shit.  Liam didn’t know how to break this news, and what’s more, it didn’t feel like it was his news to break.  His silence proved unnerving to Louis who took hold of his sleeve at the shoulder and shook him, “Dude!  Freaking out a little.  Spill it!”  When Liam just stared at the traffic with an open mouth, trying to formulate something sensible, Louis, voice frail with vulnerability, said, “You did it, didn’t you?  You took him away from me.”  The question tightened the winch that was already choking Liam to silence.

                “You took him– You’ve already taken him some place…”  Louis’ already pale face went more gaunt and his eyes turned hollow, although his face remained brave.  “He didn’t even say goodbye to m—“

                “It wasn’t me,” Liam was quick to correct when he found his voice.  “I don’t have him.  I mean—“ he saw alarm spark in the young man’s eyes and Liam explained, “I mean, I don’t have him, he’s with my boss.”          

                “Who’s your—Styles Co.?  So, I mean, when you said…”  Bits of their earlier conversation floated up and understanding dawned in his mind, “Harry Styles?  Your boss is _the_ Harry Styles and Niall is with him?”

                “Yes,” Liam said, stroking his hands over the wheel.

                “How did that happen?”

                “Oh, man,” Liam shook his head, deciding to have words with Niall for putting him in this position.  After pulling the car into a loading zone and putting it in park, Liam unbuckled his seatbelt and turned as best he could in the small space to face Louis.  He wracked his brain to find a way to start this story, and all he could come up with was, “Please don’t slit my throat in the night, but I haven’t been honest…”

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

Niall’s Room:  At least that was where Harry was intending to take him.  He had already gone up the half-flight of stairs when he realized the precious thing was no longer behind him.  Irritation settled in his blood immediately and with long strides that resembled stomping, he retraced his steps.

When he found the boy, who was not terribly far behind, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his thunderous tracks.  Niall stood against the French windows that opened the view to the backyard, where the pool dominated the landscape.  It was a turquoise blue today, making it look wetter than the common man’s water and it was lined with exotic foliage that had been given to the Styles family as a thank you from the Heart March foundation.  For the first time since arriving in the Styles Estate, Niall had fallen in love.  His little nose was smudging the glass and he was making grabby-hands on the panes.

As Niall was admiring the pool, Harry was admiring Niall.  He was a little taller and a little skinnier than Harry had expected.  When describing him, Liam had used words like “sweet”, “adorable”, “cuddly”, and “silly” and had painted in Harry’s mind something like an animate teddy bear.  “You sure you don’t want someone, you know…  Taller?  Stronger?....  More runway-y?” Liam had asked, clearly unconvinced that Harry would be interested in someone so pedestrian.  Harry just shook his head, keeping his thoughts to himself.

The skinniness did make Harry uneasy, as if evidence of Niall’s poverty would invite more of the same.  Harry was determined to wipe out every trace of Niall’s life on the streets, right down to those ratty, white Supras.

Niall felt Harry’s eyes on him and he turned around, bright with excitement, “Can I use it?”

                “Yes,” Harry replied, pushing his hands in his pockets and priding himself on his patience.  He stalked up behind the smaller lad, watching their reflections in the glass.  “Whenever I don’t need you.”

                Niall didn’t respond and Harry curled his fingers around Niall’s wrist and pulled him away, directing him up the half flight of stairs.

                “Will you ever need me in the pool?”

                Reading people was an important life skill for Harry Styles, but he was having a hard time reading Niall.  His innocence and naivety was incongruent with everything Harry knew about his life and it would’ve made Harry edgy if it weren’t so refreshing.  Then, he would ask questions like that and Harry couldn’t tell whether or not he was being cheeky, or seductive.  But the expression on his face very well could have been childlike exuberance as if he was expecting Harry to reply, “Yes, Niall, there will be times when I may call on you to do a double back-flip into the pool.”

                “We’ll see,” Harry said, then yanked on Niall’s arm when he tripped over the runner.

NOW Niall’s Room:

                It was across the landing that was more like a sitting room and behind an unremarkable white door that could easily be overlooked as a broom closet.  Harry opened it and guided him inside and once he’d done so, Niall felt his insides settle – the room was normal.  The soft light, filtered through a layer of Pipetrial pollution, illuminated a large, yet cozy room with a well-made, unadorned wooden desk, a plush rug of checkered shades of blue, a bed with a sturdy cherry frame and a bedspread that was no doubt knit by an elderly relative upon receiving news of a germinating baby boy.  Niall’s favorite part of the room was a cream colored arm chair, far too broad for one person, but not large enough for two.  It begged cuddling and Niall felt his heart pine for Louis.

                “Adjoining bathroom over there,” Harry pointed as he strode further into the room, with a clear familiarity of his surroundings.  He dragged a finger along the top of the dresser, was satisfied with its cleanliness and abruptly opened the drawer.  “There are a few things in here for you, but I’m sending you to the tailor’s tomorrow.”

                Niall followed him into the room and immediately dropped his weight onto the bed, testing its bounciness.  It had excellent give. “I have stuff at my place, I could pick it up, maybe—“

                “Why, so we could burn it?  No.  I don’t want you looking like street trash.”

                There was little that Niall truly regretted parting with, but the image of a small, once-yellow, stuffed rabbit came to mind and his heart constricted acutely.  “Well, I do have a few things I’d like to –“

                “Forget about it.” Harry was in his personal space, then, his long, agile fingers ghosting over the angles of Niall’s face.  “Whatever you had, I can replace with the best in the world.”  Those fingertips failed to make contact with the soft of Niall’s skin and the boy risked a glance at his employer.  As soon as their eyes met, Harry looked away and walked to the door, but before he did, Niall caught a glimpse of such intense yearning and vulnerability that Niall was left as breathless as he was confused.

                “Uh…”

                “Come on,” Harry said, “you can settle in later.  I want to show you my room.”

**Somewhere between Albany and Nutall Street**

**Vicon Village, Pipetrial City**

                There was a moment after Liam had detailed the expository points of Niall’s circumstances to Louis – of Liam working for Harry, of Niall going to live with him and of Harry agreeing to set Louis on his way to a better life – that Louis just blinked at him with a gaze of deep contemplation.

                “So,” Louis said to clarify, “Niall is off the streets?”

                “Yes.”

                “For good?”

                “Yes.”

                “For real?”

                “Yes.”

                The resulting ‘whoop’ was so loud and unexpected that Liam started and nearly knocked the car out of park.  Louis became pure fanfare then, beating a joyous tattoo on the ceiling of the car and wiggling his boyish frame with as much delight as his wounds would let him.  He screamed wordlessly like his footie team won the World Cup before switching to hug himself in a fit of giggles.  Liam struggled to reconcile this with the boy who had threatened to kill him a few weeks earlier if he took Niall away.

                Louis did put his hand on Liam’s neck a second later, true, but it was just to haul him close and smatter his cheek with celebratory puppy kisses.  When Liam looked at his face to investigate why those kisses were so sloppy, he was surprised to see fat, glistening tears slipping over apple-sweet cheeks.   Aware of Liam’s scrutiny, Louis dragged his un-plastered arm across his eyes and burbled in apology, “Pain killers make me wacky.”

                “Sure,” Liam said, hiding a smile.

                “When can I see him?”

                “Let’s get you set up, first.”        

                “K. Can you bring him to me after that?”

                “We’ll see,” Liam said, preparing to put the car on the road again.

                A pout appeared on Louis’ gamine features.  “Harry’s not going to secret him away like Rapunzel, will he?”         

                “Like – what?”

                “You know what I’m talking about.  Like, he’ll keep him up in a tower and not let anyone see him.  Niall’d have to grow his hair really long and I’d sneak in in the dead of night and climb up his hair and then impregnate him with twins.  That’s not gonna happen, is it?”

                Liam wasn’t listening really well since he was trying to merge into heavy traffic that had no intention of showing mercy, but Louis’ prattle did make him smile.  “I’d say that’s pretty unlikely.”

                “Good.  Cause I can’t afford child support.”

                “You two are pretty close, then?”

                “Yep.  He’s my boy.”

                “How did you meet?”  In retrospect, Liam had no idea how he hadn’t gotten around to asking that question earlier.  He looked over at Louis and caught the boy looking back at him, his eyes tripping easily and appraisingly over Liam’s frame.

                “He didn’t tell you?”

                “No.”

                “Not part of the 20 questions, then, huh?” 

                “He told you about that?”

                “I made him tell me if you did anything spooky.”

                Liam smirked.  He knew he had to have looked pretty spooky at the end, there.  Louis turned his gaze out the window and rubbed one of his knuckles against the spotless glass.  He was slumped back in his seat to keep the pressure off his ribs and he looked like a kid bored on a family vacation.

                They were leaving Vicon Village, now, and to an untrained eye, it was indiscernible from Chalcedony Circle, which they were now entering. A knowledgeable observer, however, would able to take one look the different style of graffiti on the walls of rundown buildings and tell you without a doubt, you were in Chaldo. The little borough, just a bit further to the north, had reappropriated its poverty in a way Vicon Village hadn’t yet learned to.

                “We met on the job,” Louis said simply.

                “You hired him?”  Liam guessed.

                “No.  Not that I wouldn’t.  It was some old guy, in, like, his seventies or something.  Picked me up and told me he was too old to get it up anymore, but he still liked to watch.  Took me to this gorgeous pad in the Financial Quarter and I walk into the bedroom and there’s this cute, clueless goober standing there.”  Louis chuckled fondly at the recollection.  “I couldn’t understand a damn word he said and for the first ten minutes we just snickered at each other.  I could tell he was nervous.  Found out later he’d never topped before – which, I mean, people usually want the blonde on the bottom, but not this guy.  No, this guy thought Niall had a cock made for screwing.  I mean, he’s not _wrong_ , just…”  Louis laughed in the way only close friends can laugh at each other, “Niall didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.  But, damn, boy could kiss!”  That made Liam smile and he stole a glance at Louis to confirm that yes, boy could kiss.  The connection reminded the both of them that they weren’t alone in missing out on Niall’s charms.

                Moving as gingerly as he could, Louis shifted his weight over the center console, where, due to being slumped in the seat, he was eye to eye with Liam’s bicep.  “So, you’re gonna be in need of company, huh?”

                “Huh?  Well, no, I mean, I spend all day with Harry, then me and Grimshaw go to the pub after work—“

                “And that makes you come?”

                Liam blushed at his own naivety and Louis’ brashness.

                “No.  I mean, I don’t --  Niall was just for Harry—“

                “Cause if you need another boy, I am definitely free every Thursday night,” Louis cooed, nuzzling into the starchy fabric of Liam’s jacket.  “And I taught Niall everything he knows…”

                “Louis,” Liam scoffed, pretending to be unaffected by the offer, “You can’t even walk, much less… You know…”

                “My mouth is still in perfectly good shape.”  With that, he reached for Liam’s fly with his undamaged hand and the rest of him followed in that general direction.  “First one’s on me.”

The car jerked to a halt when Liam crunched the break and the horns went symphonic behind them.  Unconcerned by the rage of Pipetrial commuters, Liam took Louis by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright.     

                “Now you listen to me:  You’re not a whore anymore!”

                Louis winced from the ache in his ribs from the sudden position shift, but he held Liam’s gaze firmly.  “Once a whore, always a whore.”

                They stared each other down, Liam expecting to see some give in the smaller man, but Louis was unshifting.  Liam only let him go when the threat of someone in the cars behind them pulling out a gun became probable and he turned his attention back to the road.

                “I don’t get you, kid,” Liam sighed, shaking his head.  “I don’t get why you don’t want your life to be better.”

                “Course I want it to be better,” Louis replied, gingerly settling himself back in his seat and looking out the window.  “Just don’t have much hope it’ll stay that way.  Turn here.”

                “I’m taking you to the Hope Street apartm—“

                “I know, but I wanna pick up some of my stuff.  Turn here.  And prepare yourself for some fancy digs.”

**8227 57th Street**

**Beryl Heights, Pipetrial City**

Harry’s Room:

                “This is my room.”

                Niall had been exposed to so much splendor and excess in the past hour that he wasn’t surprised when Harry led him into a room across an impressive hall from his own, that would rival any Parisian embassy.  The exterior wall was lined with floor to ceiling windows that allowed the setting sun to dress the room in a sweet, holy pink.  There was a California King bed that even Harry could get lost in and just as he had done in his own room, Niall went to sit on it.  It was firm and supportive and conducive to some serious fucking.

                From the bed, he had a perfect view of the flat screen TV that was hung over the fireplace, as well as the chandelier, baby to the one in the great hall, that hung over the sitting area that was lined with handsome leather furniture and likewise illuminated a truly remarkable painting.  It was of a city street; the white snow that washed it was speckled with dots of humanity and by the look of the vehicles, it had to have been set in the 1800’s.  Niall had never seen anything like it.

                “Did you paint that?”

                Harry took a moment to determine whether or not Niall was quite stupid.  “No,” he said, flatly.

                “Who did?”

                “Monet.”

                That name rang a distant bell with Niall.  He was about to ask if it was worth anything, but he bit it down before he could make a fool of himself again.  He looked away from the painting when he heard a soft clunk on a plush, Persian carpet and saw that Harry was removing his shoes.  Once barefoot, the larger man crawled up on the bed, stalking the smaller one.

                “Do you like it?” Harry asked, his voice syrupy and enchanting.  But behind the cool veneer and polished drawl of privilege, Niall could sense that Harry was insecure the answer might be ‘no’.

                “The room?  Yeah, it’s nice.  Big.  I mean…  Everything you have is nice.”

                It was the only answer anyone could give and it was strange to Niall that he saw relief on Harry’s face to hear it.  “It is, isn’t it?”  Harry sat back on his heels and smiled; it transformed him so entirely, Niall felt like he was meeting someone new. “I always have the best of everything.”  Then he did what he had been unable to do in Niall’s room; he cradled Niall’s face in his large hand and pressed his thumb against his pink lips.  “And now I have you.”

                The compliment earned him a flimsy smile, but its imperfection was soon buried under one of Harry’s dominating kisses.  It was as if he was trying to imprint his seal on Niall’s lips, to the point that when he pulled away, Niall’s teeth hurt.

                “Tonight,” Harry spoke in a voice like liquid velvet and Niall couldn’t reconcile how someone could speak so sensually and not have it translate into equally sensual kisses, “I’m going to have you all night.  I’m going to take you over and over again until morning.”

                A fiery flush coursed through Niall at those words, but it came also with a fair deal of confusion.  It was generally confusing to be with an attractive client, because he felt a mix of both arousal and disgust, which folded together and became disgust at his own arousal and arousal at his own disgust.  But as Harry pressed down on top of him and sucked on his neck in a way that Niall knew would leave dark bruises, he became very aware that this was entirely different from his usual trick.  It was dawning on him that Harry was the only man he would be fucking for the indeterminate future.  These strong hands pawing at his hips and these hungry lips stealing sips of his flesh would be the only hands and lips he may ever feel again in his life.  The realization made Niall part his lips for a deep breath and he pushed his fingers into Harry’s dark, silky locks, very curious to explore the man that would be his first foyer into anything like monogamy.  Harry made a low noise in his throat that reverberated through where he was kissing Niall’s neck and thrummed throughout the rest of his body.  The confusion loop began again and Niall recalled Louis’ words to him when they’d initially become friends and started experimenting with each other: “Never be afraid of feeling good.”  And Louis was right.  Niall had been afraid of sex when he’d first teamed up with the older lad, but Louis had eventually taught him that just because sex was his trade didn’t mean it had to become drudgery.  If Niall could enjoy sex with Harry Styles then, by god, he would.

                One of Harry’s hands was between Niall’s spread thighs, groping his cock through his pants with the finesse of someone checking an avocado for ripeness.  In return, Niall reached down between Harry’s legs and pet him expertly, hoping he could provide Harry with some guidance on how to successfully palm a man if the goal was, indeed, to get him hard.  Instead, Harry’s hand disappeared entirely as he focused all his energies on extracting pleasure from Niall’s ministrations.  He took hold of Niall’s knee, hooking it over his hip so he could settle more deeply between Niall’s thighs.  He was infernally hot atop Niall’s body and he could feel the shape of his muscles the way Harry was pressing into him.  When Niall finally got his wrist at a good angle to stroke, his employer kissed him again, all demanding lips and tongue that left no question as to whom Niall belonged. 

                The crush disappeared briefly when Harry sat up; just long enough to open his Armani fly and stuff Niall’s hand in the aperture.  Then he was back, smooshing Niall into the fantastically firm mattress. 

Niall noticed, as he had earlier that day in the car, that Harry had an awfully big cock.  It was a throbbing handful now that required hard learned dexterity to handle and it had been quite a jaw-breaker to suck.  It made Niall somewhat apprehensive to know that something of this size was attached to a man that tended to rut like a rhino in heat.

When Harry tucked himself into Niall’s neck, Niall reciprocated by placing a few soft, tender kisses against his throat, hoping if it didn’t give him some inclination to treat Niall with affection, at least it might remind him that there was a person beneath him that needed to breathe.  Instead, it made Harry come and he gouged his hips into Niall so harshly, Niall would swear he felt the baseboards of the bed against his back.

“Shit,” Harry panted against Niall hotly, “I liked these pants.”

Harry hadn’t even begun to lift his weight yet when a bright, “Harry?” pierced the quiet, sex-stenched air of the room.  A streak of bright pink glimmered in the doorway and Niall glanced over Harry’s shoulder to see that it was in fact, Sarah.

                “Oh, my god, I’m so—

                “What?” Harry barked.  The young woman took a moment to collect herself and find a safe patch of carpet to stare at.

                “Eddie’s here, with a contract.  And you only have a half an hour to get ready for the benefit.”

                “Benefit?”

                “The Heart March benefit is tonight.”

                That got Harry up and while he had the decency to tuck himself back into his pants, he didn’t seem concerned that he had a come-stained shirt.

                “Is Liam ready?”

                “Um.  Grimshaw is taking you.”  As she said it, she seemed to shrink, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.

                “What do you mean Grimshaw is taking me?”

                “Well, you sent Liam to go get that boy from the hospit—“

                “Dammit, Sarah!”  The outburst made the woman flinch back against the door.  Niall had never seen anyone go from blissed-out post orgasm to furious so quickly.  It made Niall wonder if he’d done a bad job.

                “What did I say to you?  Day one,” Harry elaborated as he tore off his shirt and threw it in the corner, “Day one, I told you if I’m going to a big event, you schedule _Liam_ to take me!”

                “I know, but I didn’t know you told him to go pick up that boy from the—“

                “I don’t want any excuses, Sarah!  When I give an instruction, I want it followed!  It isn’t my job, or Liam’s job to keep track of this shit, it’s _yours_.”  As Harry berated her, he was yanking on his belt in the wrong direction, too lost in his frenzy to change quickly to even notice.  Niall feared he would break it.

                “Just find Liam,” Harry continued to rail, “and get his ass here, fast -- DAMMIT!”  He’d gotten himself in quite the tangle and if he didn’t proceed with a level head he was liable to be out of both pants and belt.

                “Sarah, this seems to be happening with you a lot,” jerk, tug, “You’re letting a lot of shit slide that any,” yank, rip, “high school dropout would be able to handle!”  Niall couldn’t take it anymore.  He knew that if that belt broke, or if those pants tore, it would be just another red cape to Harry’s already charging bull and he knew Sarah would bear the brunt of it.  Swiftly, he rose from the bed and gracefully slipped agile, steady hands under Harry’s flailing ones, neatly pulled the belt buckle from where it had pierced the belt loop and slipped it from around Harry’s waist.  Let it not be said that Niall was no expert in getting a man out of his pants.

Harry endured all of it with an almost wary complacency.  His tirade had stopped and he looked down at Niall in surprise and said, for lack of a better word, “Thanks.”  His attitude shifted.  The spark of his anger faded and he huffed.  “Look, just call Liam and see how fast he can get back over here.  With how much money I’ve donated to this March, they can shut the fuck up if I’m a little late.”  With that, he dropped the belt unceremoniously on the floor and strode off into the bathroom.

When the door closed with a petulant slam, Niall turned to see Sarah nailing him with a measured gaze.   Niall wanted to smile at her, laugh off what an awkward encounter that was, but the woman seemed disinclined. 

“Does he get like that a lot?” Niall asked, breaking the crisp silence.

Sarah considered before she answered.  “He can be moody.”

Niall retrieved the belt on the floor, wrapping it around his fist, just so he had something to do.  “Well, I suppose I’d better go sh—“

“Shower,” Sarah finished for him pointedly.  Niall turned verecund pink and nodded, “Shower, yeah.”  He put the belt down on the bed.  “What do I do while he’s away?”

“Whatever you want, I suppose.  Have you eaten?  Olga will be in the kitchen a while longer if you want something cooked up.  Look—“ she said, shifting from her somewhat rigid, unsympathetic manner into something a little more intimate.  “You’re sweet.  But it’s good you saw that now.  It’s good you see how he can be.  Because he won’t use kid gloves after your novelty has worn off for him.  He’s never going to trust you and he’s not going to love you, either.  So it’s best you grow a tough skin right now.” 

She turned on her expensive heel and Niall heard the clack-clack-clack as she strut down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an already completed fic that I am editing and posting called Burn Out. I wrote it with the magnificent Miraal, author of Privilege, which was the 1D fic that got me writing in the first place. You can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13664028/chapters/31385808
> 
> We would love to know what you think.
> 
> Twitter: @gvbutterworth  
> Facebook: GV Butterworth  
> Tumblr: gvbutterworth


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